


What Remains

by Miltonway



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Angst, Banter, Bottom Kirk, Courtship, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Friendship, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Kobayashi Maru, Love, M/M, Masturbation, Memories, Minor Character Death, Romance, Slow Build, Smart Kirk, Vulcan Culture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-03-13 14:42:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 108,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3385544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miltonway/pseuds/Miltonway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In answer to Eimeo’s challenge </p><p>‘Anyone ever seen the magnificent film "Truly, Madly, Deeply", starring Juliet Stevenson and Alan Rickman? I'd love to see an AU K/S fic based on that. Basically, Kirk's lover, Gary Mitchell, has recently - and unexpectedly - died and he's having a hard time getting past his grief. While Kirk hovers on the verge of despair, Gary comes back to haunt him benignly and, surreptitiously, to help him move on. Because Kirk has just met a mysterious man named Spock, who could be so much more to him if he can just let go of Gary's memory and face up to a future without him...’</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I’d like to say a big thanks to my beta, fagur fiskur (*Hugs*), for all her hard work, enthusiasm and encouragement. She’s the reason this fic is even half way readable. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> I’d also like to thank Aldora 89 for her beta work on the earlier chapters.
> 
> Disclaimers – Neither ST or TMD belong to me. One belongs to Mr. Roddenbury, and the other to Anthony Minghella and BBC Films.

Prologue

Better to walk forth in the frozen air  
and wash my wound in the snows; that would be healing;  
because my heart would throb less painful there,  
being caked with cold, and past the smart of feeling. – John Crowe Ransom

****  
Jim Kirk awakens early and goes through the motions of getting ready for a new day. He goes outside to the backyard of his home and in the chill dawn he stands, watching the sun rise. It seems to linger on the horizon, casting its feeble honeyed glow over the peninsula. But its golden light offers no warmth, no succor.

Beyond the garden the neighborhood stretches out languidly before him. Above the slight early morning mist he can see the neighboring roof-tops, solar panels glinting, and beyond them the soft azure waters of the bay, as San Francisco slowly stirs beneath the lightening sky. 

He stands in the small garden of a tall, cream-painted house that looks very much like its neighbors, though its plaster is peeling in several places revealing the dull brick beneath. A few dark shingles hang precariously. Tall and narrow painted window frames adorn the structure, their panes of glass reflecting the weak light. 

The compact garden is nestled behind the house, bathed in the light of the early spring dawn. It is nondescript, nothing contained within its borders to distinguish it from the other gardens in the neighborhood. A square area of loose stones sits in the middle, framed by a wide brick path, whilst around the path thin borders run, bursting with bedding plants. 

An ironwork table and two chairs rest on the loose stones of the middle square. A short washing line is strung between house and the wall at the bottom of the garden. Stone steps, worn from use, lead to a slender dark blue back door.

He turns to regard the flowers and bedding plants growing in the dark soil. They’re mostly various shades of green - coneflowers, Shasta daisies, yarrow, poppies and phlox, all yet to flower. Small bright yellow daffodil buds dance in the early breeze and scattered among them are tiny snowdrops, their fragile white blooms beginning to wither and die. 

The image blurs as tears obscure his vision. A memory rises unbidden in his mind, as clear as if he has been transported back in time.

**  
 _The day is overcast. Grey clouds crawl sluggishly over the small garden, threatening rain. He is kneeling on a cushion to protect his knees from the cold brick path, as he digs and plants bulbs in the soft, dank earth._

_Eventually, he sits back on his heels and digs the point of the trowel into the soil, and turns to watch Gary. He likes to watch him whenever he can, adores the sight of him._

_The other man is busy emptying out a sack of shingle and stones for the middle square. He runs a rake over the small mound of stones to smooth them level._

_They are nearly finished with their work when the rain starts; a few big, fat drops splash on the ground, then suddenly the heavens open and the rain falls to Earth in thick cold sheets, quickly drenching both men._

_They attempt to take shelter in the narrow porch of the back door, laughing and dripping water in shallow puddles around their feet._

_He blinks rain out of his eyes, and sees Gary smiling before him. He drinks in the spiky damp lashes, pink cheeks and sparkling hazel eyes. Studies the way his shirt clings to his chest, nipples highlighted against the damp cloth. He can only stare wide-eyed, his breath caught in his chest._

_Gary inches closer, hazel eyes burning brightly, a smile hidden in their depths. His soft brown bangs are flattened by rain to his forehead._

_They stand regarding each other, clothes clinging wetly to their skin, rain running down cheeks and dripping from lashes. They break into sudden laughter at the sight of each other._

_Gary surveys their morning’s work. “Doesn’t look too bad, does it?”_

_Jim laughs. “Says the man who wanted to make the city’s biggest cat litter tray.”_

_A small frown appears between the brows of the other man._

_“It would not have been a cat litter tray! The idea was to just cover the whole garden with stones and shingle. You have to admit it would’ve been easier. Doing it this way has meant a lot of extra work, what with making paths and adding plants.”_

_“Hey, we’ve got a skilled craftsman over here, you know,” Jim says, wide grin in place._

_“Well at least we’ve got one then,” responds Gary, his tone self-depreciating._

_“Hey, you’re not that bad,” Jim tries to reassure him._

_“You’re not the one who crushed your thumb twice,” Gary retorts._

_“Ah, poor baby, let me kiss it better,” Jim croons, grabbing hold of Gary’s hand and placing a soft kiss on the affected thumb._

_Gary’s grin fades into something warmer, more intense. He steps in even closer and Jim cannot move, transfixed by his nearness._

_Strong, muscular arms encircle him, soft lips nuzzle against his neck and slowly work their way up to the junction of his jaw. Jim tilts his head back to grant the other man easier access. Stubble brushes against his skin, hot breath skims across his cheek. Gary’s hands rest gently, but possessively on his hips._

_He wraps his arms around Gary’s neck and leans in to kiss him. Their wet lips slide against each other’s. He licks across soft, plump lips to encourage them to open, gains access when they part a little. Their tongues spar, and the kiss grows more insistent. He can smell the other man’s rich, clean, masculine scent mingled with the scent of wet earth. The rain and the garden are forgotten._

**  
He comes back to himself as the memory fades to find his breath coming in great, heaving gasps, and salty tears are running down his face. Something is squeezing his heart. The wilting blooms of the snowdrops provide mute evidence that winter is beginning to falter and spring is slipping into the gaps left by its retreat, but for him there is no thaw. His winter is still here, its icy tendrils chilling him to the bone.


	2. Chapter One

The cursor blinks. Jim slowly refocuses his gaze on the words in front of him. He knows he’s supposed to be reading for a test he has in a few days, but he simply can't focus. He makes one last effort to concentrate as he squints drowsily at the first paragraph. It’s no good. The words are nothing more than sharp dark strokes against the lighted backdrop. He murmurs a weary command and the terminal blinks off. 

He’s not sure how long he’s been sat hunched over the workstation, staring vacantly into space as the light rapidly drains from the room. Time seems to have no relevance. It slips by in a pain-filled blur, the only constant the cavernous depths of his grief. Some days are bearable; fooling him into thinking the worst might be over. Many days are not. These are the days his grief rips like jagged glass. Today is one of those days.

A bottle of the strongest Andorian ale he could find sits just within reach, icy blue color glinting softly under the muted desk-light. Not, he thinks, that anyone can blame him, considering what today represents. March 22nd, just another day in the calendar. To Jim it’s far more than that. It’s the most recent in a string of ‘firsts’ Jim has had to endure without Gary. He just wants to get this first twelve months over with; there are just too many dates to get past: Thanksgiving, Christmas, his own birthday. Today is just the latest, Gary’s birthday. 

It’s been nine months now. There are days when he never thinks of Gary, but these are few and far between. Most days he can’t stop thinking about him. Nine months without his touch, without hearing his voice, without seeing his smile. It feels like a lifetime ago. It feels like yesterday. 

He reaches for the bottle, grabs it and swivels his chair around to face the window. He can see his own pale disheveled reflection staring desolately back at him. He quickly averts his gaze to the murky street below. 

In the small halo of luminosity thrown by a street light he can see Mrs. Bachowski out walking with her new puppy. The little animal sniffs tentatively at the willowy trunk of a winter flowering California Lilac, one of the many sundry trees that line the street.

Jim can’t help the resentment that bubbles up at the sight of her. He can’t quite forgive her casual inane remarks uttered only a few weeks after Gary’s death, which doubtless in her mind was an attempt at comfort but to his ears simply came out as downright crass. She told him she knew how he felt as her old dog had recently died, and that in time “you’ll find someone else.” Jim thinks it would have been better if she’d said nothing at all.

He has great friends and Bones has been outstanding. But even so he’s sick of hearing people say “How do you feel?” “Are you okay?” “Sorry,” and his all-time favourite, “It’ll get better in time.” A small masochistic part of him doesn’t want it to ever get better as that will mean his last link to Gary will be gone. He’s not ready for the wound to heal, even though he knows he’s powerless to prevent it, so he coils the hurt tightly around himself like barbed wire.

Irritated, he barks a command and the window darkens, blocking out the unpleasant reminder of his sorrow in the stooped shape of his elderly neighbor. He turns away, back to the desk and darkened workstation, and takes a swig of ale, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He places the bottle back on the desk. 

He never imagined that being without Gary would be a part of his life. Never imagined that Gary would die so young and so suddenly, leaving a gaping hole where he used to be. He’d never expected to feel so much grief. Since he died Jim feels like he’s missing something vital, like he’s no longer complete, as he struggles to rebuild the foundations of his life, which disappeared one awful day when his future seeped away like water through sifting sand.

He wants to scream, to rant and rage. He wants to put his fist through something hard and unyielding and hear the satisfying crunch of bone. But as he feels the painful throb emanating from the little toe on his left foot he knows that’s no solution. Instead he lets his head fall forward to meet his folded arms resting on the cool desk. 

How has this become my life? He thinks despondently. He knows that life goes on, that it has to, but he’s struggling to get past the overwhelming sense of grief. He knows he’s drinking more than he should. He’s withdrawn. He’s allowed himself to become isolated, spending most evenings home alone, so unlike the person he used to be. 

Earlier today he hadn’t been alone. His home had been crammed with people. They came and sat and drank and shared memories of Gary to mark the anniversary of his birth. It’s a small comfort to know that Gary was so well loved. But at the same time it chokes him to know that Gary is reduced to just a thought in people’s heads, a mere memory. Everyone knows how capricious and ephemeral memories can be, how they eventually fade. A memory can never replace what he’s lost.

It hurts, and yet he himself tries to box off the memories in some dark recess of his mind, because they haunt him relentlessly, his own private hell. If he thinks too much about what he’s lost he’ll need more than Andorian ale to sleep. 

He turns his thoughts instead back to the…what? Party? No, not party. Jim’s mood had been fragile and somber, weighted with grief. It was an ordeal. But, of course, he had done his best not to let it show, wrapping himself in his usual cloak of cheerful brashness, fully immersing himself in the atmosphere, which itself was not teary-eyed, but a celebration of Gary’s too short life. He reflects bitterly, with a muffled snort, that he deserves an award for best acting performance. But it’s preferable to showing his grief in public as he’d rather hack off his own legs with a blunt rusty knife.

Bones noticed of course, his anxious concerned gaze tracking Jim’s progress around the room, no doubt noticing the dark shadows under Jim’s eyes. It was Bones who hung back after everyone left, trying to convince Jim to let him stay the night. Jim declined, patiently insisting he was fine and he just needed to get to bed and get some sleep. Bones reluctantly acquiesced, a shadow of disapproval ghosting his features tempered with sympathy and affection.

The shadows were already lengthening before the house was silent at last.

A rumbling sensation assaults his stomach. He hasn’t eaten today, apart from picking at the food his guests brought, mainly so as not to arouse their suspicions and cause them worry. He has no interest in eating; cooking for one is no fun.

He lifts his head, rubs at a weary eye and glances at the chronometer. It’s late. Jim sighs. It’s been a grueling and heartrending day and he knows he should go to bed. He’s not looking forward to going. He sometimes spends the whole night lying awake, unable to shake the painful memories that clamor for attention. It’s even worse when he wakes up, as often he forgets just for an instant that Gary has gone. When he remembers mere seconds later grief and despair sweep in and he just wants to never wake up again.

Slowly, reluctantly, he stands, stretching his arms towards the ceiling, trying to work out the kinks that have settled in his spine from sitting too long in one position. He suddenly feels older than his years. 

He idly considers the bottle of ale, wondering if he should take it with him. Memories he'd rather not revisit have been surfacing with a vengeance today, and he finds himself prisoner of a thousand recollections. He’s been squashing most of them down before they can coalesce, but the alcohol will certainly help with this process. How else can he anaesthetize the pain, how else can he blunt its sharp jagged edges?

He picks the bottle up intending to take it with him to the bedroom, but suddenly scared of how much he wants it, he veers towards the kitchen instead and pours it down the sink before he can change his mind. He watches it leak away down the drain and wishes he hadn’t wasted it. But he knows he’s done the right thing, however reluctantly. 

That done he unwillingly limps towards the bedroom, entering and leaving the door open a crack to let in a thin watery sliver of light from the landing.

Jim’s gaze as usual flicks to the large empty bed, alighting on Gary’s favorite sweater which lies neatly folded on the pillow next to Jim’s. Jim keeps it there, unsure what to do with it. He can’t bring himself to give it away, but neither can he bring himself to wash it or wear it. He keeps it there on the pillow instead, as in a way it’s a more tangible reminder than a holo of Gary. His presence lingers on the sweater, much like it lingers everywhere else; in every stray item of clothing, his toothbrush in the bathroom, every holo-pic. 

He turns his back to it and sits on the end of the bed, reaches down and slowly pulls off his socks. Apathetically, he bends down to inspect the little toe on his left foot. The toe itself is still slightly swollen and mottled black even two weeks after stumbling drunkenly into the thicken wooden leg of the bed. He notes however, as he wriggles it experimentally, that the pain is much less and the range of movement much better. It’s healing nicely and long experience of injuries tells him the toe will be as good as before. 

He strips off his clothes and climbs into bed, places a hand on the soft yarn of the sweater and lies there, lonely, disorientated and heart-broken. Occasionally, the bright beams of a hover-car or air tram sweep across the gloomy room.

Here, in the oppressive silence of his bedroom, memories and images flood back and he shuts his eyes against the onslaught. If he keeps his eyes shut tight so tears cannot escape then he can tell himself he’s not really crying. 

It’s no good. This is why he needs the alcohol. He turns to the little table by his bed and picks up the hypo that Bones gave him a few days ago. It’s medication to help him sleep. He only hopes that Bones is cognizant of the fact that over the last few weeks he’s been drinking too much and prepared the medicine accordingly. A very small part of him doesn’t care about the consequences if this is not the case. 

He hypos himself and lies back down on the bed. He can already feel the medication begin to take effect. He closes his eyes and waits for sleep. It isn’t long before he’s drifting off, falling to that place between sleep and wakefulness. 

Jim catches the hint of Gary’s shower gel hanging in the air and he cracks open a bleary eye. His breath catches in his throat as he gazes at Gary lying beside him. The thin slice of light from the landing casts an ethereal glow over his golden skin. Gary’s chest rises and falls with each breath, eyelids fluttering in REM sleep. 

“Gary?” Jim whispers, as a shiver runs over his skin, raising goose bumps. This is surely a hallucination from the meds, however in this instant Jim doesn’t care. For a moment he can pretend that his life never crumbled into dust. 

He reaches out to touch warm golden skin, only to find his hand run along cold smooth sheet. A noise escapes his throat he doesn’t recognize. He didn’t think he was capable of making such a noise, animalistic and wounded. He sobs into his pillow.

He’s not here. He’s not here. “Why aren’t you here?” he whispers. He feels a remembered breath against his ear, hears a soft murmur in return. “I am here.”


	3. Chapter Two

San Francisco is bathed in mellow sunlight, the slight dawn mist having lifted by mid-morning. It’s too early in the year for the heavy fog which often cloaks the city during its summer months, but April is often mild and sunny, and this day is no exception.

Jim walks quickly across the campus, heading toward the mess to meet Bones for lunch. Lost in his own thoughts, he keeps his head down and tries not to attract anyone’s attention by avoiding eye contact. Fortunately, people seem to take the hint and no one approaches him. 

He enters the mess and heads straight to the nearest replicator. He has little appetite for food, but considers that if he doesn’t sit down with an adequate and healthy lunch Bones will only worry, which will lead to medical advice as Jim prefers to call it. Jim himself would prefer a quick sandwich, or even just a few fries, but decides that he really should try and get something green onto his plate, if only to placate Bones. Having made his selection, some kind of congealed-looking pasta in a cheese sauce with a limp side salad, he moves away from the replicator to survey the airy and sunlit mess hall. 

He spots Bones at a small corner table, hunched over a PADD, his fork making a steady journey from plate to mouth and back again. Jim quickly makes his way over, not stopping to acknowledge anyone else. 

He slumps down heavily opposite his friend, who immediately looks up and gives him a quick once over, no doubt taking in every little detail of Jim’s appearance and demeanor. Jim resists the urge to squirm in his seat; he knows that Bones misses nothing, so instead he holds himself still under the scrutiny and keeps his eyes averted. Keeping his expression suitably neutral he contemplates the unappetizing food on his plate. 

Doctor Leonard McCoy has been his friend since he started Starfleet Academy some two years ago. His best friend, someone Jim considers a kindred spirit. Not that this is ever articulated, except maybe when both of them are too stinking drunk to either remember or care the day after. 

“You look a little better today,” Bones murmurs casually. Jim glances up quickly from under his lashes but Bones is back looking at his PADD, or at least feigning interest in its contents.

“What?”

“Just saying, you look a little better, have you added more highlights to your hair?” 

Jim looks at Bones askance, fork aborted on its voyage to his mouth.

“Bones what are you talking about?”

“Just saying, is all.”

Jim narrows his eyes as he scrutinizes his friend. Bones seems to have changed tactics; it’s not like him to compliment Jim on the state of his hair. Or to compliment him at all in fact, usually it’s just insults. This, Jim thinks, is probably an attempt to throw him off balance. 

Ignoring Bones, he turns his attention to the tall window on his left. His gaze drifts outside to the small garden area. Minimalistic in its design, a thin strip of gravel and decking sweeps in an arc hugging the wall of the building. Planters of polished metal sparsely populate the garden, their contents swaying gently in the faint breeze, in complimentary shades of green. 

“Are you depressed?” asks Bones.

“No.”

“Everybody’s just worried about you.”

“Everybody?” He frowns. “Who?”

“You’ve just disappeared! You’ve dropped off the map, you don’t invite people over, you don’t sleep enough, and I can guarantee you’re not eating properly.” Bones’ voice rises as he warms to his subject, the contents of his PADD forgotten. Jim relaxes slightly. This is more like Bones’ usual self. 

“You look terrible,” Bones adds, a frown drawing his brows together.

“Gee thanks, except for my hair?”

“Is it still Gary?”

“What? Of course not!”

“I can understand that. Lord knows I think about Jocelyn. I miss her sometimes, and I hated her…at the end that is. Well, we both hated each other at the end. The point is, I understand, but you have to get yourself out there again. Get on with your life. Meet new people. You’ll never meet anyone, stuck in the house all the time.”

A sharp pain twists in Jim’s chest, blinding in its intensity. He looks at Bones in surprise, his mouth dropping open as he freezes for a few seconds before exploding into motion.

“What the fuck, Bones?” Jim scrapes his chair back roughly as he stands, glaring down at his friend.

Bones winces as he realizes he’s said the wrong thing, but he keeps going anyway. “Just come out for a couple quick drinks, Uhura and that Orion cadet she shares a room with are having a party this evening. We could pop in, see what it’s like.” 

Jim shakes his head quickly.

“You never even want to go out for a drink anymore,” Bones accuses. “Just a few drinks together,” he adds almost pleadingly. 

Jim softens his expression. “I can’t, I can’t…” He stops a second to swallow past the lump in his throat. “I just can’t,” he whispers. He turns away from the table and stalks out of the mess; just catching Bones mutter under his breath, “Well that went well.”

****

Darkness sweeps over the bay. The lights of the city flicker on one by one as dusk falls. The air is crisp and clear, but much cooler. The stars shine cold and bright in the darkening sky.

Weary and heartsick, Jim walks home in the gathering twilight. He pulls his coat collar up under his chin to keep out the slight chill in the air. 

He walks slowly towards the house, the one he used to share with Gary, but where he now lives alone. His thoughts turn back to the time they both left the flat endless fields of Iowa behind to enlist at the Academy, pursuing their shared dream to explore the stars together. They arrived in San Francisco and settled in a fixer-upper with a bay view. Gary had moaned about the many repairs that needed to be done, but Jim had loved it, or at least had not minded it so much as long as he could be with Gary.

He turns away from thoughts of Gary and what should have been. It’s too painful to dwell there. Jim muses sadly that he should have taken Bones up on the offer of dropping in on Uhura’s party, instead of sitting at home by himself.

At the thought of Bones he feels a pang of guilt as he casts his mind back to their lunchtime confrontation. He’ll have to apologise. Bones is only worried about him, that’s all. Jim resolves to make amends at the first opportunity.

He quickly ascends the steps to the front door and bends to activate the retinal scanner. 

“Lights,” he calls as he enters the house. The hallway beyond explodes into brightness, forcing him to blink furiously as his eyes adjust, squinting in the glare.

He drops his PADD on the kitchen table and goes to the bedroom to change. 

He puts on extra layers of clothing as the heat is not working again. One baggy sweater, a pair of worn jeans and two layers of socks later, he goes to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of whiskey. He takes the drink with him into the living room and goes to stand at the window, to stare out at the lights glinting along the street below. 

In between sips he cradles the whiskey protectively against his chest and loses himself in thought. He stands this way for a long time – he’s not sure how long - until finally his stomach rumbles with hunger. He reluctantly drags himself to the kitchen and lacking the patience to put together a good meal he replicates some oatmeal, which he quickly eats before leaving the bowl by the sink to clean later. 

He pours another whiskey and takes it to the sofa, where he sits and flicks listlessly through the stations on his holo-vid, the light flickering pale shadows over the dark sitting room. Leaning his head on the back of the sofa, he puts his feet up on the small table in front of him and closes his eyes. He is bone weary, so tired he could sleep for weeks. He drifts into a dream-like state between waking and sleeping, lulled in part by the whiskey warming his veins.

There’s a sudden buzzing at the door and Jim frowns as he glances at the chronometer. The luminous red numbers read 11:40. Who can it be at this time of night? 

He shuffles to open the door in response to the increasingly insistent buzzing of the doorbell. Pavel Chekov, a fellow cadet at the Academy, stands framed in the open doorway, a smile blooming large and bright on his young face. Jim lets a small sigh escape before he can stop himself.

“Hey man, everything okay?” 

“Fine, Fine.” Chekov nods. 

Chekov is looking past Jim into the house beyond, and Jim knows he’s angling for an invite in. 

“Pavel, it’s almost midnight.”

The other man seems preoccupied, more oblivious than usual as he makes to move past Jim. As he does, Jim is assaulted by the smell of alcohol. It takes a second to register, and then he remembers Uhura’s party.

“Yes, yes.” Chekov nods again. “But, I come to see if you still want me in zhe morning. For zhe flight simulation test…..”

“Oh yeah, I do,” he says, but he’s not so sure anymore. Chekov can hold his liquor well, but he’s not completely immune to hangovers. 

Chekov is suddenly preoccupied with something in the kitchen. “What is wrong with your cupboard doors?”

Jim suppresses a grimace. “I can’t close any of my kitchen cabinets. Most of the hinges are all bust.”

Chekov moves straight past him and makes his way unsteadily into the small kitchen where he starts opening and closing cupboard doors and inspecting them closely. Being slightly drunk only seems to ensure his rapt concentration on the recalcitrant doors.

Jim falls back to lean against the hallway wall, and the surface is cool on the back of his head. He concentrates on that spot and uses it to centre himself. He just wants to go to bed, and he can’t dredge up the necessary energy to converse with his uninvited guest. Recently an inordinate amount of effort has been required just to dress, shower and study, to do anything at all in fact. He has to admit that in the last few months his life has been lived on autopilot. 

But remembering his rudeness with Bones that afternoon, he resolves to try and make some effort to be friendly. Heaving a resigned sigh, he slowly closes the front door and moves to follow Chekov into the kitchen, where he casts around for something to say. His eyes land on the small, empty dish on the kitchen floor.

“So it turns out I’ve got rats,” he says. “Either one massive rat that never stops eating, or one thousand on a diet. A guy came this morning and put down enough poison to knock out half of San Francisco, and it’s disappearing.” He points at the poison dish. “Check it out.”

“I’m missing Russia”, Chekov laments, totally ignoring him. 

“Right,” mutters Jim.

“Sometimes I think I hate Russia, but then a song goes into my head, or a taste, I remember the taste of Russian bread.” He shakes his head sadly and sits down hard on a chair, head in his hands. “Man should never drink. He remembers only his country, his family…his lovers….”

“Yeah,” Jim says too quickly, stopping Chekov right there. He really doesn’t want to talk about this, not now. Maybe trying to play the host wasn’t such a good idea after all. In the hopes of encouraging Chekov to leave, he adds. “Look, I’m going to bed. I’ve had a really, really stressful day. Shitty in fact.”

But Chekov has decided now is the time to address Jim’s rat problem. “In my country when we want to get rid of rats we do not poison zhem, we dance, to drive the rats away we dance.”

Arms raised above his head he starts to sing and dance around the room, stamping his feet loudly on the floor.

Jim slumps heavily against the kitchen door frame, arms folded across his chest. And admits defeat as he watches Chekov dance exuberantly and drunkenly around the room. Chekov’s words finally penetrate his consciousness, ‘his lovers?’ What the hell! Chekov must be all of seventeen. Jim shakes his head in bemusement.

He slowly slides down to the floor to sit against the frame, arms resting on his knees. He watches a smiling, tousled haired Chekov twirl unsteadily, and for the first time in a long time he manages a small genuine smile.


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left a review/kudos. If you’d like to leave a review/kudos, please feel free. I don’t bite :)

Jim reluctantly invites Bones over the next evening, mainly to make amends, but also because he enjoys the man’s company. They sit on either end of the small, tired sofa in the gloomy living room as night falls over the city. 

The moon, framed by the window as it watches over the twinkling lights of the street below, hangs full and silver. With no classes tomorrow they are slowly leaving sobriety behind as they trade a bottle of whiskey back and forth, making small talk between brief periods of companionable silence.

Jim is acutely aware that he’s not very good company, and hasn’t been for the last ten months. The old Jim would have been first in line for Uhura’s party, now he doesn’t even want to socialise.

“How ya doing, kid?” Bones suddenly asks, breaking in on Jim’s internal pity party.

“Huh? Okay, I guess.” He can see that he must not have made a very convincing case, because Bones looks far from reassured. 

“And I’m supposed to buy that crock of nonsense? With the way you acted yesterday?”

“It’s not a crock of nonsense,” he says defensively, because he really doesn’t feel like dredging this up now.

But Bones just fixes him with the glare which tells Jim he isn’t going to let this drop, so Jim just better man up.

“All right, all right. I’m not doing so well,” he admits reluctantly.

He sees that Bones is clearly waiting for elaboration, as he takes his feet off the low coffee table and leans closer to look at Jim intently. “Out with it.”

He takes a deep breath, turns to look out the window at the brightly lit street beyond. He doesn’t want to look at Bones, not if he’s going to be baring his soul. “I’m jealous, I guess. Jealous that everyone else’s life is carrying on, that other people can laugh and smile and be happy, when I’m not. Petty, isn’t it?” 

He’s not sure what made him confess this. Too much liquor probably. He takes another swig of the whiskey.

But Bones is simply nodding. “Yeah, I kinda felt like that after my divorce,” he says. “You know, hated everyone else who was happy and in love.” 

“Yeah, but Bones,” Jim says forcing a small grin, “grumpy is your default.” 

Bones sighs and rolls his eyes before continuing. “We just got married too quickly, too young. Everyone said I was making a huge mistake. They were right, too. Of course it was! 

“Jocelyn and I…well, we bickered from the get-go, but in the beginning it was kinda fun. All the fighting just seemed like part of the relationship, I guess.” He stops and looks out the window.

“Finally the time came for both of us to say that enough was enough, there was nothing left of the relationship to save. Once the damn lawyers got involved, all hell broke loose.” He takes the whiskey from Jim and sits back on the sofa. “Looking back now, it’s a damn sight easier to enter a marriage than to leave one.” 

They both lapse back into silence as Bones sighs and takes a drink from the bottle. Jim turns again to look out the window. Beyond the immediate neighborhood nothing can be seen, only inky blackness as Pacific meets night sky. He can see, out of the corner of his eye, that Bones keeps shooting him glances. 

He owes Bones big time. It is Bones, after all, who has attempted to hold him together these past ten months or so. It was Bones who stayed with him in the first weeks after the loss, when Jim was in a state of numb shock and denial. Shock so deep that Jim had insisted on carrying on as if nothing had happened. 

Bones was still there when that initial shock wore off and Jim was overwhelmed with a pain so excruciating that it was almost unbearable. When anger came, and Jim lashed out at everyone around him, Bones had taken the brunt of it. When Jim had embarked on a self-destructive phrase, turning up late regularly at the dorms after yet another drunken fight in a seedy bar, Bones had patched him up, no complaints and no questions asked.

Now he’s hit despair, sunk in a long period of depression and self-imposed isolation. Bones is still here, and though people often don’t understand, Bones will just say, “The way you feel is normal kid, and if they don’t get it, well who gives a damn about them anyway.”

However, opening up and discussing things is not something he really wants to do. At all. But knowing he owes Bones some reciprocation and aided by the liquor warming him from within, Jim starts talking. Falteringly and so quietly his voice is almost a hoarse whisper, and before he knows what he is doing, he’s spilling the beans about hearing Gary’s voice on an almost daily basis.

“…He mostly talks when I’m alone, or doing stuff. He’ll talk about what I’m doing, you know. Give some advice. It’s all ‘go to bed, brush your teeth up and down, lock the back door’.

“He’s always upfront...well, he was always upfront.” Jim pauses and then with a frown he adds. “He’ll also speak to me in Vulcan, which is odd, because he didn’t speak Vulcan.”

He pauses in embarrassment before continuing in a small voice. “He’s just suddenly there and everything’s okay….” 

Bones makes no comment on the fact that Jim is confessing to hearing a dead man talk, for which Jim is thankful. Though he still curses himself for raising the subject; it’s probably the kind of confession, drunk or not, that could lead straight to a psychiatric evaluation. 

“Does it bother you?” Bones asks instead.

“No…I just feel cared for, I guess. He never says anything profound.” 

“When did Gary ever say anything profound?” Bones scoffs.

Jim huffs a brief laugh. “No, you’re right.”

He can’t believe he’s saying any of this to Bones, to anyone. He reaches to take the bottle back from his friend, because damn it, he needs some more to justify the blabbermouth.

“It’s not uncommon for people to hear things after a loved one dies,” Bones says quietly. “I wouldn’t worry about that too much. But you should still try and get out more, Jim. It’s not good for you, hell for anyone, to just sit at home all the time.”

Jim nods slowly and decides not to tell Bones just how vivid Gary’s voice can be. 

Silence descends on the room like a thick blanket. Jim looks down at the bottle he is holding and feels embarrassment warm his cheeks. Eyes casting around for a distraction, he spots a paperback book on the small coffee table in front of them. The cover is a little bleached and dog-eared, its spine cracked, a testament to its great age.

Passing the bottle back to Bones, he reaches for the book and begins to idly flip through its yellowing pages.

“Maybe it’s time to start expanding my book collection. That could get me out of the house.” 

“To dusty old antique shops? Not much of a step up.” Bones sees the distraction for what it is and plays along, to Jim’s relief. “Impractical if you ask me. You can store thousands of books on a PADD or data chip. Who needs paper and ink?”

“But Bones, there’s nothing like a real book,” he says, putting his nose to the faded grainy paper and inhaling deeply. 

“Plus, where will you put them? Especially when you’re in space. Those starship quarters are no bigger than a damn broom cupboard,” Bones grouses. “And as an Ensign you’ll be sharing with someone else, don’t forget. You’ll be sitting on each other’s knees as it is and that’s without books cluttering up the place.”

“You get bigger quarters if you’re a Captain.”

“You won’t make Captain straight out of the Academy though, will ya? Who would be stupid enough to promote a Cadet straight to Captain?” says Bones incredulously. He shakes his head. “Forget I said that, there’s probably some moron in the admiralty stupid enough to do just that. I wouldn’t put anything past Starfleet.” 

Jim rolls his eyes. Now Bones is just being silly. A Cadet promoted straight to Captain, as if. 

Bones is warming to his theme. “At least four hundred people squashed together like sardines in a tin can, can you believe it, with only a metal hull between them and the vacuum of space.” He waves his hand around for emphasis, causing the amber liquid to slosh violently in the bottle. “I keep telling people, there’s nothing but disease and death in space.” He shudders.

“Geez, you’re a little ray of sunshine.”

“I aim to please. It’s my sunny disposition.” He glances slyly at Jim. “Goes with my excellent bedside manner.”

Jim scoffs. “I’ve seen your bedside manner, and sunny is not the word I would use.”

“That’s because you’re such an infant when it comes to any kind of medical intervention!” Bones retorts. “Not my fault if the damn patient’s whiny.”

“Hey!” 

“So, how did it go with Chekov this morning?” Bones says, wisely changing the subject.

Jim grimaces. “Top tip, don’t sit a flight test with a navigator who’s suffering from a hangover.”

Bones chuckles.

“I’m probably giving myself one right now,” Jim adds quietly. “I think I’ve had too much.” 

“You’re such a lightweight,” scoffs Bones.

Jim smiles softly and they lapse into comfortable silence.

“Thanks Bones,” he murmurs awkwardly.

“For what?” 

“For this,” he answers, waving a hand between them both to indicate what he means. His eyes do not quite manage to reach Bones’ gaze. But he hears Bones give a non-committal grunt, which to Jim ears, conveys much affection.

****

After Bones has finally gone back to the campus dorms, Jim decides to try and get some sleep. He retires to the small untidy bathroom to change into an old pair of boxers, and then stands in front of the mirror to brush his teeth.

Gary’s voice interrupts his thoughts, speaking clearly in the cramped room. “Ki’ tu klacha svep?”

“I did,” responds Jim with a small genuine smile, his mouth white and frothy with toothpaste. 

His spirits lift, and it’s not just the whiskey causing a warm glow now. Gary is back with him again, and briefly everything is right with the world.

When Gary first started speaking with him a few weeks ago, it was a huge shock to say the least. It unnerved him and, if he was honest, scared him. He began to doubt his own sanity. 

Upon hearing the beloved voice he would turn around quickly, expecting to see Gary standing there, as if the previous months had been a nightmare from which he had awoken. When he didn’t find Gary there he would often go look in the next room, thinking he might be there instead.

But it was amazing how quickly he adjusted to this new reality, how soon he came to look forward to Gary’s ‘visits’, to accept them as normal.

He hears the voice almost daily now, and it’s comforting, like Gary is still with him. He no longer stops to wonder if he is losing his mind, though he does cringe inwardly as he remembers confessing this to Bones earlier. Although Bones didn’t seem too concerned, so maybe he’s fine after all.

“Bolau tu shom.” Gary admonishes. 

“Yes mother!” He grins as he makes his way back into the bedroom. “I’m going to bed right now.”

He does as he promised, a small smile on his face, warmed by the fact Gary is still with him in some form. He falls asleep to the distant sounds of city life, but it’s never quite the same without Gary. The bed is just too large and empty.

Sometime in the night he wakes up, and for a moment he is confused, wondering what has awoken him. As his eyes focus he sees a shape before him on the pillow. A brown and furry shape, with a long hairless tail and, to Jim’s imagination, malicious dark eyes, quietly sitting just inches from his face. 

“Fuck…oh God, oh God.” He jumps up like he’s been scalded, falling out of bed in his haste, his body tangled in the sheets.

Desperately he untangles himself and grabs a blanket that was lying at the bottom of the bed. He hurriedly wraps it around his shoulders. The rat has disappeared in the commotion, but he doesn’t want to go back to bed. Not that he’s scared of rats, because he’s Jim Kirk, and he’s totally not, but still he finds, almost without conscious thought, his feet taking him into the living room. There he lies on the sofa, still wrapped in the blanket, and eventually falls into an uneasy sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ki’ tu klacha svep? – Did you lock the door?  
> Bolau tu shom – You need to rest


	5. Chapter Four

Jim stands in the shower willing his body to get going, listening to the water fall, feeling it kiss his skin. He has a painful crick in his neck from sleeping on the sofa. Closing his eyes, he leans his forehead against the cool wet tiles and just stands there, the weight of the searing water making him light-headed. 

Eventually, the water cools, and he forces himself to get out of the shower. He wraps a warm, soft towel around himself and stands in front of the mirror. The bathroom remains damp and steamy; the extractor fan, which spins weakly but noisily, is inadequate to the task. 

He swipes the condensation off the mirror with a hand, and his reflection stares jadedly back at him. He’s not surprised that his eyes are dull and blood-shot, the clear blue clouded.

After brushing his teeth, he splashes his face with cold water in a futile attempt to make himself feel more animated. He goes to the kitchen and eats some toast, not really having an appetite for it, but making the effort nonetheless.

He washes the meager breakfast down with a mug of coffee. It’s Gary’s mug, large, green and white stripes, with a couple of chips on the rim. Jim wraps his hands around it, letting the warmth of the coffee warm them, trying to rid himself of the chill that hasn’t left him even after the hot shower. His palms and fingers tingle with the too-hot heat of the mug he grips tightly. It helps him focus, because at this moment he feels disconnected from his body, from everything, like he’s frozen in suspended animation.

He goes to stand at the window, to look out over the back garden and beyond, to the choppy waters of the bay. Rain is falling in sheets outside, beating a rapid rhythm against the window pane. The sky is quite dark but with a strange luminous quality, as though the sun is lurking just behind the clouds, waiting to make its entrance. He watches the blur of water slide down the panes. At least the windows don’t leak, a minor blessing considering the state of the house.

He stands there for a long time, watches as individual drops of water, like crystal sparkling and reflecting the dim light, race each other down the pane, watches the gulls swooping and pitching in time to the swell and fall of the water, watches steel gray storm clouds chase each across the dull heavens. He watches the downpour drench the small garden, the raindrops bouncing off the path.

He tries to think of things not connected to Gary, as memories flood back of soft but ardent kisses shared in the autumnal rain. 

Instead, he forces his mind to think of other things, and remembers that Scotty is coming over today to check out some leaking pipes in the basement. Discomfort rears thick in Jim’s throat. He’s perfectly capable of making his own repairs. Ever since he was young he has had a talent for taking things apart and putting them back together again, often better than before. 

But his friends feel a sense of responsibility for him, and the only way to keep them from suffocating him with caring is to indulge them once in a while. A stab of guilt pierces through his gut. He is selfish. They’re concerned about him after all. They’re only trying to help. 

He glances at the chronometer; it says 08:15. There’s still plenty of time to kill. He putters around the house for a while, picking up dirty laundry, and trying to half-heartedly straighten up. Finally he gives up trying to find things to do that he has no enthusiasm for doing anyway, and instead goes to sit in front of his terminal to crank out some course work. Maybe he can complete some outstanding assignments before classes start again. 

****

Hours later, he nurses his second coffee at the small living room table while Pavel Chekov bangs around in the kitchen, Scotty lurks under the hall floorboards, and George, the rat-catcher, is off somewhere or another trying to figure out the rat problem. Jim is surrounded, a full house. He sighs as he hears Bones’ voice out in the hallway. Make that a full house, plus one. 

“Hey Scotty, is Jim around?”

“Through there,” comes the muffled response.

Bones comes in to the living room, looking baffled, and sits at the table next to him. Jim greets him with a nod. “The hell’s going on here? What’s Scotty doing under your floorboards?”

“Saving my basement from a flood.”

“And that god-awful racket?”

“Chekov’s fixing the cabinet doors.” He raises his voice. “Hey, Pavel.” 

Chekov pops his head round door and he and Bones exchange quick greetings.

Bones turns his attention back to Jim, a frown on his face. “Dammit Jim, this house… it’s not really… it’s an absolute pile of crap. Why don’t you just move into the dorms? We could get you assigned as my roommate.”

Jim can’t do that, not yet, so he goes for a diversion.

“It really is a disaster, isn’t it? The whole place is falling apart,” he says, and pats the nearest wall with an affectionate smile. Bones looks at him like he’s jumped off the deep end, and maybe that’s not far from the truth.

George puts his head around the door. He is a short, rotund man with a ruddy face, watery eyes, and wispy hair. He’s been over enough times that Jim knows the names of his grandchildren.

“Have you touched these containers?” George gestures towards the kitchen and the empty poison containers.

Jim shakes his head. “No.”

“You haven’t emptied them out or anything?”

“No,” he says, exasperation coloring his voice

“You’ve got a very serious problem here, Jim. Somehow it’s getting worse even though my poison is disappearing. We’re talking a lot of the little bastards. We’re talking nesting. We may even be talking infestation. Can I make a call?”

Jim’s heart sinks as he gives a resigned nod.

“Mice?” Bones says.

“No.” Jim shakes his head and holds his hands up, palms facing each other, and then sheepishly slides them further apart, like he’s telling a fish story. 

“Rats…oh, God!” Bones looks at Jim with his patented ‘you’re a moron for buying this dump in the first place’ face.

Jim puts his head in his hands, elbows resting on the table, and stares down at the wood grain. 

He hears Chekov enter the room, and the scent of something hot and fragrant follows him. A garishly patterned bowl is placed under his nose, and wisps of steam rise invitingly. From the corner of his eye he can see Pavel put a second bowl down in front of Bones.

“Jim, you want Borscht?” Chekov says, and Jim can almost hear the smile in his voice. “To celebrate your working kitchen.”

“What?” Bones says, as though Chekov has just said something completely outlandish, like a horde of Klingons are skipping down the street arm in arm, flowers in their hair, doling out candy hearts and Easter bunnies to an astonished populace. The mental image causes Jim to manage a small brief smile, despite the dark sea of despair and frustration lapping at his insides.

“Borscht, have some. Pavel told me earlier that it’s the answer to all our problems,” Jim says, lifting his head to look up at Bones.

“I doubt it,” mutters Bones. To Chekov he says, “Ah...Borscht…yeah thanks.”

He now has four people in his house, fixing his things, cooking him things, and trying to keep him company. But at least he gets a good dinner out of all the commotion.

Jim takes a sip and the soup is piping hot and surprisingly good. The warm steam rises to his nostrils and he is surprised to realise that he is actually quite hungry. 

“Fantastic.” He smiles up at Chekov. 

****

Later, after he has finally persuaded everyone to leave, Jim moves again to stand at the window. He presses his forehead against the cool glass and allows his eyes to drift closed. He’s not tired; he is instead full of a restless energy, an unbearable itch under his skin he needs to scratch.

Removing his head from the glass he takes in the scene outside the window. It has stopped raining and the sun is shining weakly in a watery sky. Jim is struck by a sudden desire to get out of the house. After all, if he’s out, then no one will be able to visit him. There’s also the bonus that he’ll be keeping Bones happy by following his advice. An idea takes shape, and Jim knows just what to do about his restlessness. He heads to the bedroom to change. 

He decides on a long route through Golden Gate Park, culminating in a jog along the beach. It’ll scratch the itch and enable him to escape the confines of the house, which suddenly feels claustrophobic. With his music chip in place he sets off.

The air is crisp and clear, the ground damp with the occasional lingering puddle. He forces a brisk pace as he heads towards the park. Once there, he pushes on a little more. 

Golden Gate Park occupies just over a thousand acres, a large green oasis in the middle of the sprawling city. He enters at Fell and jogs along a wide path, dark grass stretching to either side, glistening under the insipid sunshine. Wisps of mist curl among the trees and small yellow flowers dot the landscape like a shimmering golden ocean. 

He drifts apart from the rest of civilization, in his own little bubble of music, his feet beating a steady rhythm against the ground. Classes, work, a house full of friends, all the minutiae of daily life fade into the distance as he simply focuses on running.

He skirts Stow Lake. The lake lies placid and crystal clear, stretched between its banks as smooth as a sheet of glass, the dense foliage growing beside it reflected in its flat, iridescent surface; a perfect mirror image.

He runs along narrow earthen pathways bordered by dense ferns, the trees forming a dark canopy overhead. The air here is cool and dank, and the ferns brush droplets of cool water against his legs as he glides past. 

This is what he needs; he is truly alone for the first time today. He doesn’t have to think, doesn’t have to feel, and doesn’t have to acknowledge anyone else. It’s just him, the music, and the pounding of his feet over the tarmac. It’s strangely liberating. 

Eventually he exits the park at its western edge, stops to buy a bottle of water from a small deli, and then crosses the road to walk along the sidewalk that runs parallel to the beach. His muscles are protesting the exercise, but he feels better for the run, feels the buzz of a chemical high as endorphins course through his body. 

The sidewalk is separated from the ocean by a narrow strip of dark sand. He stops, switches off his music, and stands looking out over the Pacific as it stretches out to the horizon. The air smells fresh with a salty tang. 

Feeling sweaty but slightly virtuous, he takes a sip of his water and looks out over the monochrome vista before him. The distant skyline is hazy. The steel gray waters are restless, white foam edging the cresting waves. The sky is becoming increasingly overcast, matching the gray of the ocean, as further rain threatens. A weak late afternoon sun casts feeble light over the water. 

He becomes lost in his own thoughts, lulled by the gentle sound of the waves lapping against the beach.

He only comes back to himself when the breeze stiffens. The sky is growing darker as the rain clouds sweep across the heavens in the distance. He realizes that he is hungry, and decides that on his way home he’ll pick up some take-out. Maybe watch a holo-vid. Hopefully, Gary will turn up to talk with him tonight. At the thought of Gary he smiles to himself, cheered by the prospect of hearing his voice. 

He looks around, and the place is fairly deserted. He suspects that people have retreated out of the impending rain. Only one other person stands, a few yards away to Jim’s left, contemplating the same view Jim was just a few moments ago. 

The man is still as a statue, hands clasped together behind him, back ramrod straight. His posture is so rigid as to give the impression of being carved from granite. He is dressed in dark, warm-looking clothes more suitable for late fall or early winter. A wool hat is pulled tightly down over his head. 

Jim’s curiosity is piqued and he slowly and casually moves a few paces closer to the stranger. He stops a respectable distance away, and pretends to look back over the ocean. From the corner of his eye he quietly regards the other man.

The stranger is about his height, his pale face striking in profile, eyes deep-set and nose a little short. Jim can see the faint shadow of stubble along the strong jawline. The man’s skin is tinged a faint olive in the cool breeze. Vulcan, Jim decides. Either that or he’s not well.

He wonders what a Vulcan makes of so much water, coming from a planet with so little. He turns to him, struck with the sudden and inexplicable need to talk to someone. 

“Hi.” He smiles tentatively. 

The Vulcan turns to regard him, brown eyes sweeping quickly over him.

“Good afternoon,” is his softly spoken response, before he once more turns his gaze to the restless waves. He doesn’t invite conversation, but he doesn’t seem to close off either.

“Come here often?” Jim grins, not serious in the slightest but fishing for a reaction.

The man turns towards him, face impassive. An upswept eyebrow skims the brim of his hat. Yeah, definitely Vulcan, thinks Jim.

“Indeed,” the stranger says before turning back to regard the Pacific. “I find the ocean fascinating.”

“I was thinking you might, considering your planet.” 

“In fact, there are several small seas on the planet’s surface - the Voroth Sea, for instance - but essentially you are correct. Nothing on Vulcan is comparable.” 

The Vulcan lapses into silence and Jim finds he does not mind. There is no need for words. He is content to just stand here, to make a brief connection with someone who doesn’t know him, can’t make demands upon him, and needs nothing from him. 

Jim doesn’t offer his name, nor does he want his new acquaintance’s. They will likely never meet again, and that’s okay. San Francisco is a big city, and they wouldn’t be the only pair of ships passing in the night.

They stand together in companionable silence, watching the waves advance and retreat as the sun sinks lower and the sky darkens.


	6. Chapter Five

April slips seamlessly into May. 

The sun spills though the blinds, its warm light seeping into the room like honey and floating shadowy patterns over the walls. 

The light awakens Jim, who forces his eyes open and squints against the brightness. Briefly, he tries to snuggle back beneath the covers of his bed. He doesn’t want to get up. He never really wants to get up anymore.

But much as he’d wish, he cannot stay in bed. Duty calls. Classes start soon. With a groan he rises, stretches his arms above his head until his spine pops, and then ambles into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

He’s running late. He doesn’t know why the alarm didn’t wake him like it normally does. Investigations, however, will have to wait until later. After briefly reintroducing his teeth to his toothbrush, he gives himself a quick and uneven shave. The patchiness of his efforts is not really noticeable in the mirror, but when he runs a hand over his skin, he can feel rough merging with smooth.

After a quick shower he towels himself off and, still damp, rushes to pull on clothes. A trickle of water travels down the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades, causing him to shiver slightly.

“You’ll be late,” Gary warns.

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.” Jim grins to the empty room. “You know, if you’re going to insist on haunting me, you could at least make yourself useful and wake me up on time.” 

“I wouldn’t need to, if you got yourself a decent alarm,” is the retort. 

After a quick breakfast, he makes his way back across the bridge to the Academy. The air is salty and clean, but a little cool, after a brief rain shower the previous evening. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of his coat to keep them warm.

When he reaches the Academy, he avoids the path and instead cuts across the glistening, dew-drenched grass. He really doesn’t want to enter the class after the professor has started speaking.

He bounds up the steps of the lecture hall and pushes his way into the auditorium. The room is large with a high vaulted ceiling. Rows and rows of seating rise up in tiers around the main area where a lectern stands awaiting the arrival of the professor. Jim breathes a sigh of relief; he’s not too late then if he has arrived here before the class has begun. He slips into a vacant chair. Notices Uhura is seated in front of him.

She turns around and smiles sympathetically at him.

“Hey, Kirk.”

“Hey, yourself.” 

He gives her a small smile.

There is none of their usual banter. There hasn’t been any of their usual banter for months. It makes Jim sad to realise that people have changed their behavior around him. But then again, he thinks, his own behavior has also changed. He supposes that he must be very difficult to be around. People are probably walking on egg-shells, scared of saying the wrong thing, of opening up old wounds. 

The professor arrives and marches briskly up to the lectern. She is short and slim, ash blonde hair cut in a neat if somewhat severe bob. All eyes snap forward. 

Jim tries to concentrate on the lesson, making the appropriate notes on his PADD, but it’s proving difficult to concentrate today, as it always is when he leaves the cocoon of his home and the comfort of Gary’s voice. He feels remote and hollow, a dry husk ready to float away on a spring breeze.

Just before the end of class a message pops up in his PADD. It’s from Captain Pike, currently Head of Student Services. Pike requests to see him after lunch and before the start of the afternoon classes. Jim frowns, uneasiness lurching in his stomach. 

****

Jim pauses before the office door and takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want to appear before his superior anything other than calm. He knocks lightly to announce his arrival. A muffled “Come in,” is heard and he enters the softly lit office, a slight feeling of trepidation settling in the pit of his stomach.

He stands at attention before Pike’s desk and snaps off a crisp salute.

“You wished to see me, sir?”

Pike motions him to sit on the seat opposite and Jim complies. 

Captain Pike gives him a brief shallow nod and then transfers his attention back to the PADD on the desk in front of him.

Jim’s eyes slide away to look over Pike’s shoulder, through the window to the campus beyond, as he resists the urge to fidget or slouch. Quiet minutes pass that do nothing for Jim’s nerves before Pike finally raises his head and addresses him. 

“It’s good to see you, Cadet Kirk.” Pike contemplates him for a beat before adding, “You’re looking a lot better. How are you feeling?” 

He is smiling kindly, but Jim suspects he can see pity in the depths of his dark gaze. He bristles, he doesn’t want pity. 

“I appreciate your concern, sir, but I’m fine, really.” He decides to get straight to the point. “Is there a problem?”

Pike contemplates him a for few moments, looks as if he will say more about whether he believes Jim’s definition of ‘fine.’ The scrutiny makes Jim uncomfortable.

“No problem, Cadet,” Pike begins instead. “I wanted to talk to you about a little community work that Starfleet often requires Cadets to carry out. As you may be aware we visit a number of schools and colleges in the area, where we give talks on Starfleet’s work, discuss space exploration with the students and deliver lessons on our areas of study.” He smiles again at Kirk. “It’s worth extra accreditation,” he adds, as though this will tempt him.

But to Jim it sounds more like a recruitment drive, and he’s not sure how he feels about that.

“I’ve re-arranged your study program and you can fit this requirement in to the current semester,” Pike is saying.

Not a voluntary endeavor then, but basically an order from a commanding officer. “Will I be visiting these schools alone?” 

“No, there’s another Cadet I’ve identified to help you with this. You can demonstrate your ability to work together as a team.” Pike’s smile turns teasing. 

He pauses briefly before adding, “It should only take a couple of weeks. There’s just half a dozen or so schools, so two schools per week should be enough. I’ve sent the address and contact details of each school to your PADD.”

“No problem.” After all Jim can’t really object, it essentially being an order.

“I’ve also coordinated a study slot each week on both your timetables. You can use that time to draw up lesson plans and discuss what topics you want to deliver to the students. If you need more time than that you can organize it between yourselves.”

Jim decides to get to the important information. “Who’s the other Cadet, sir?” 

“Cadet Spock.” At Jim’s frown of confusion Pike clarifies, “he’s our only Vulcan student. I’ve also transferred your amended timetable and other details to your PADD.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Pike regards him carefully. “I’m sorry for your loss, Jim. It’s tragic that someone should die so young.”

“Yes sir,” is all Jim can bring himself to say, afraid of the emotional fall-out if he says more. He suddenly feels panicky, as if the walls are closing in around him. He wants to leave, wants desperately to be back outside in the warm sunshine. 

“If you need any help, someone to talk to…anything at all, then please don’t hesitate to contact me,” Pike adds, concern lighting his eyes.

“I’m fine, really. Will that be all, sir?” 

Pike gives a little sigh. “Alright, Cadet Kirk, you’re dismissed.”

With a sigh of relief, Jim stands, snaps off another crisp salute and exits the office.

Outside, back in the fresh amber light of a bright spring day, he checks his PADD, and notices that the first school visit slot has been scheduled for the following Friday. The study slot to prepare for that visit is the Friday before. 

He considers that out of courtesy, he should contact Spock to introduce himself, to ensure Spock is in possession of the same facts. He thinks about sending a comm to the Cadet, but decides on impulse to go see him and introduce himself in person.

No time like the present, he decides. After all, he still has some time before his next class. He quickly tracks down Spock’s location via hacking the student timetables. 

Jim enters the combined Math and Science labs, scanning the interconnecting rooms for the Vulcan. The rooms are cool, the light muted. Dark screens scroll with multi-colored formula’s and equations. Jim recognizes a few of the calculations, though not all.

He spots the equation for Quantum Entanglement, the calculation for the way elementary particles become intertwined when they interact, a more fundamental source for the ‘arrow of time’. If only time wasn’t linear. Jim’s steps falter as he suddenly experiences the desperate desire to re-wind time, to go back, a year, two years, overcome with a bleak longing to spend just one more day with him. Because Gary’s disembodied voice just isn’t enough. But it’s too late and anyway it doesn’t work like that. He pushes the feelings aside and forces himself to stay in the present, to concentrate on the now. Swallowing down the lump in his throat he resumes his search for the Vulcan.

He finds Spock tapping out complex equations on the touch sensitive screen before him. The Vulcan is working alone while the other Cadets work in groups, chatting quietly amongst themselves. Jim feels a pang of recognition at his isolation, even if Jim’s own isolation is self-inflicted. 

A different realization also dawns on him. He’s the stranger from the beach.

Not wanting to interrupt, he allows himself a moment to regard the other. After all, he didn’t see much of him that day at the beach, considering he was bundled up in thick clothes against the chilly weather. He is tall and lean, and possesses an attractive if impassive face. His hair is black and glossy, not a strand out of place, and the overhead lights make it glint with a blue sheen. 

Jim edges closer. Finally Spock looks up at him, face expressionless. 

“Fancy meeting you here.” Jim grins.

“Indeed.” 

“From the beach, remember?” 

“I could hardly forget, considering that Vulcans possess an eidetic memory.” Spock makes no further response, merely quirks an eyebrow, waiting no doubt for Jim to indicate the reason he is here. 

Jim shifts slightly on his feet and rubs the base of his neck, feeling a bit lost. Maybe he should just have sent a damn comm after all.

“I’m Cadet James Kirk. We’ve been assigned together to deliver the Starfleet recruitment spiel to some local schools and colleges.”

“Yes, Captain Pike has already informed me,” Spock says placidly. If he has any comment on Jim’s reference to ‘recruitment spiel’ he does not make it.

“Ah…yeah. Well, I just wanted to introduce myself.”

“Surely, a simple comm message would have sufficed?” Spock says, tone even. 

Jim bristles. The Vulcan is simply too prickly. “I just felt it would be more courteous to introduce myself in person. After all, we’ll be working together for the next few weeks. It’s better to get off on the right foot.”

Spock inclines his head in a brief, shallow nod. “Then your consideration is appreciated.”

“First study period is Friday afternoon, so I guess I’ll be seeing you then,” Jim says, feeling suddenly awkward. “How about we meet in the library to discuss a plan of action?”

“That will be acceptable. I will meet you in the Learning and Resource Centre at 13:30 hours on Friday.”

“Like I said.” Jim grins. “The library.”

“Indeed. I look forward to it.” Spock shifts minutely, inching his body back towards his work. “If you will excuse me.”

“Yeah, all right, catch you later then.” He remembers his manners and placing the fingers of his right hand in the ta’al, he gives the ancient greeting. “Dif-tor heh smusma.”

“Sochya eh dif,” is the response, as Spock’s left eyebrow flies upwards, perhaps in surprise at Jim’s perfect Vulcan. Jim bristles slightly, he’s used to people underestimating him, but it rankles just the same.

Jim turns on his heel and marches back out of the labs, throwing over his shoulder, “Don’t work too hard!” and not stopping to ascertain Spock’s reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dif-tor heh smusma - Live long and prosper
> 
> Sochya eh dif - Peace and long life


	7. Chapter Six

The mess is packed with cadets either busily queuing for food or busily eating food at one of the many tables. The noise level is distracting as the sound of cutlery and glasses clink and the babble of voices and laughter fills the room.

Jim sits across from Bones at their usual corner table. He idly picks at what is left of the baked potato in front of him, but he can’t seem to summon up enough enthusiasm to finish it. He heaves a faint sigh, so soft it’s barely an exhaled breath, and glances up at Bones who is agitatedly studying a PADD, his food forgotten and no doubt growing cold on his plate.

Bones is emanating ‘don’t talk to me’ vibes so Jim allows his gaze to roam over the crowded mess hall. It’s Friday and the cadets seem to be full of high spirits at the prospect of the weekend. They move in a constant blur of red against the clean white backdrop of the hall. His eyes sweep the room slowly, taking in the other tables, the smiling faces.

Everyone seems happy and relaxed. Jim just feels disconnected. 

He spots Uhura just a couple of tables away. She is mostly turned away from him, but the long ebony waterfall of her pony tail and the smooth curve of her cheekbone is a dead giveaway as she leans forward to speak animatedly to the pretty blonde seated across from her. A few seats further beyond he can see Hendorff, who Jim has christened Cupcake, stabbing a fork at the air as he makes a point to his companions. A few more tables over still, there’s Gaila, red hair cascading over her shoulders as she leans in close to a male cadet, whispering something in his ear. 

He hears playful laughter, rich and masculine, from somewhere over his shoulder. It sounds like Gary. He whips his head around to search, almost expecting to see Gary striding towards him, striking in his scarlet uniform. But of course it isn’t him. A sharp pain twists in his chest briefly before ebbing back to the dull ache that has become a part of him, as much a part as the blood in his veins.

His swallows down the lump in his throat and starts turning back to Bones when he spots a lean and familiar figure in the food queue. The Vulcan has his back to Jim, but he can see one pointed left ear and part of the truly awful hair-cut that Vulcans seem to regard as essential.  
He frowns slightly and rests his chin on his hand as he contemplates Spock. It’s strange how he had not known of Spock’s existence just a few weeks before, yet Jim has been at the Academy for two years. How could he have missed the Vulcan’s presence? Ever since Pike had thrown them together on the community project he is suddenly seeing Spock everywhere. It seems like every time he turns around there he is; walking the campus paths, a flash of pointed ear disappearing down a corridor, standing in the food queue in the mess.

A few days ago in a crowded corridor, he had even glanced up and locked eyes with Spock, neither breaking eye contact - if only for a few seconds - through the press of bodies flowing like a river around them. He had turned away for a fraction of a second as someone called his name and when he turned back, the Vulcan had disappeared. 

He can’t explain this new awareness, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that he met Spock previous to Pike’s intervention, at the beach on a gray and rainy afternoon. 

Now, as he watches Spock punch his meal selections into the replicator, he wonders what brought the Vulcan to Starfleet. What made him decide to travel all the way to Earth to be the first Vulcan to study at the Academy? As far as Jim knows Vulcans are an insular people, largely content to attend the prestigious Vulcan Science Academy. He suspects, not that he has any evidence, that many Vulcans view Starfleet as academically beneath them. All of which makes Spock’s presence at the Academy all the more intriguing. He’s a bit of an enigma. 

Jim wonders if he’s lonely, being the only one of his kind here or whether he’s made any friends. 

Shaking his head to dispel his thoughts, he turns back to Bones, who is frowning darkly over his PADD, muttering what Jim is sure are curses under his breath. 

“Hey, did you know we had a Vulcan student?”

Bones looks up at him briefly. “No. Not until you mentioned him.” 

“I wonder why he’s here. At Starfleet, I mean.”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Bones says, exasperation coloring his tone. “You’re meeting him later for the school thing, aren’t you?”

Bones sounds even snippier than usual, and Jim catches a glimpse of class notes on his PADD. He takes the distraction and gives his friend his full focus, letting Spock slip from his thoughts.

“You still worried about the test, Bones?” he asks.

“I’m a goddamn doctor, not an engineer.” Bones retorts hotly. He drops his PADD on the table in disgust. “Why do I even need to know about warp field mechanics anyway?”

“Just picture this.” Jim says, leaning forward to get the other man’s attention. “You’ve finally made CMO on a starship. The Captain slips on a banana peel, the First Officer dies of grief, and the Chief Engineer gets kidnapped by Orion slavers, and that means that you’re next in the chain of command.” He pauses, letting his words sink in, watching Bones try very hard to keep up his frown. “At that point, to save the ship and crew, it helps to have a little background engineering know-how.” He leans back in his chair, satisfied he’s made his point. 

Bones snorts and rolls his eyes, which Jim counts as a victory. “At that point, the ship is doomed no matter what I do.”

Jim laughs, but it’s clear to him that more practical advice is needed. “Look, I’ll help you cram, if you want. I can drop by later before I head home.” 

“You sure?” Relief is evident on Bones’ face.

“Why not, I’ve got no plans and my social life sucks at the moment. I’m sure you’ll be better company than the rats.” He gives a sly grin, attempting to be the old Jim, for Bones’ sake, if not his own. “Well, maybe not better company.”

Bones shoots him a glare, but a reluctant smile blooms on his face. “Thanks, Jim.” 

“No problem. You provide the refreshments and I’ll provide the genius,” Jim says with a wink.

Bones rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, kid.” His expression suddenly turns suspicious. “Is this just an excuse to drink all my booze? Because if it is, forget it. Buy your own.”

Jim’s grin widens. “It’s a date, then. Catch you later.” He stands, pushing his chair back. 

“Yeah, later,” Bones says, voice grumpy, but Jim can see amusement glinting in his eyes before he turns his attention back to the PADD.

Jim exits the mess and heads over to the Learning and Resource Center in slightly higher spirits than he might have anticipated earlier. He can feel a fraction of the weight of grief lift from his shoulders, even if only temporarily. 

At least he has something to look forward to on a Friday evening after all. It’s always enjoyable spending time with Bones, plus it beats moping around at home watching holo-vids in a dark sitting room with only rats for company. 

The Learning and Resource Center - or the Library as everyone who doesn’t want to waste their breath refers to it - is across the other side of the campus. He doesn’t rush; he still has plenty of time, and it’s nice to be out in the fresh air. He’s spent too much time cooped up recently.

He enters the library, claiming a table in sight of the main entrance, so that Spock can spot him easily. He’s early, but he wanted to get here first.  


Sitting down at his chosen table, he gets out his PADD and checks his messages. He tries to gather his thoughts, to concentrate on the task at hand: what can they deliver to the students?  


He relaxes into his surroundings, and mulls over some ideas as he waits. The library is peaceful and comfortable. He has seen so much of the center in the past two years that it’s like a second home. It’s one of his favorite places on the campus.  


He realizes he should be grateful to Pike for giving him this project. It’s extra work, but that’s what he needs to keep his thoughts from Gary. Avoid thinking about a future ripped from him, from them, far too soon. He looks up in time to see Spock approaching the table, his steps precise and measured. The Vulcan is right on time, Jim notes.

“Greetings, Cadet Kirk,” says Spock as he takes a seat opposite Jim. 

“Hi.” Jim responds with a smile. “You can call me Jim, by the way.”

Spock inclines his head in a shallow nod. “You may refer to me as Spock.”

Jim decides to cut straight to the task at hand, as he only has one hour before his next class. “I’ve been kicking a few ideas around.” 

He feels relief to realise that Spock doesn’t know everything as Spock’s eyebrows come together, and his forehead creases, possibly confused at the colloquialism, before he regains his impassive expression once more. 

“Starfleet’s a huge topic.” He starts listing them, counting on his fingers as he goes along. “There’s engineering, sciences, security, medicine…you get the idea.” He frowns. “It’s just too many subjects to deliver in just one afternoon per school. We have to narrow it down.” 

“I concur.” 

“We should stick to what we know. I can talk about being on the command track. I’m pretty good at tactics and strategy too, so I can include that.” 

“It is wise to focus on own areas of expertise. I will discuss Starfleet’s numerous scientific discoveries and the importance of Starfleet’s exploration work. I can also discuss, if need be, the importance of diplomacy in first contact situations, including a brief overview of diplomatic missions.” 

“You have diplomatic experience?” 

“Not directly. However, my father is the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth. As a child, I attended various diplomatic functions on occasion.”

Jim slides a quick furtive glance at Spock, filing this information away for later. “Okay, then. I think we have a base to build on.” He pauses and opens a new window on his PADD. “We need a lesson plan.”

They make good progress, and the hour slips by quickly. Jim finds himself doing most of the talking, but Spock’s reticence is not a problem, and he finds that he is comfortable and relaxed in the Vulcan’s calm presence. Spock is knowledgeable, intelligent and easy to work with.

They arrange a time and place to meet the following Friday afternoon, so that they can travel to the first school on Pike’s list together. 

Jim stands and grins wryly. “Well I have to get going. Wouldn’t want to be late to Johnson’s class.”

Spock stands and turns to regard him. “Indeed not,” he says, with what Jim thinks is a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. Apparently Professor Johnson’s reputation precedes him. “I too must take my leave. I am required at the computer labs to work on the latest upgrade of the Kobayashi Maru.” 

Jim’s complete attention is immediately focused on Spock. “You’re working on the Maru? But you’re just a cadet.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “That fact does not preclude my involvement in the upgrades. I have already taken the test, so my participation cannot influence my future performance. Secondly, as a level A computer technician who was accepted to the Vulcan Science Academy with a flawless record I am eminently qualified to work on the test. Thirdly, as I am graduating from the Academy inside three years I am being assigned extra educational modules to broaden my learning experience.” 

“I’m doing three years too,” is all Jim can think to add, his mind too busy spinning with possibilities. He wonders if he should see Spock as more of a rival than a potential ally. The fact that Spock is here at the Academy even though he was accepted into the VSA is impressive enough without the added prestige of working on Starfleet’s most infamous test.

“Then I imagine we will see more of one another beyond this project.” Spock inclines his head in a brief bow. “I look forward to our next meeting.” He turns on his heel and walks away.

Jim is left watching Spock retreat, a million interesting thoughts rushing through his mind. 

****

Later he makes his way back home across the bay. The bridge is brightly lit, orange paintwork merging to pinker hues where the lights catch the surface, as it stretches across the black expanse of water and sky.  


It’s late. He stayed longer than expected with Bones, helping him cram for the test. 

He lifts his gaze upwards, to a sky thinly coated with stars. There’s a whole universe out there, full of other worlds and endless adventure. The stars hold the promise of escape, to slip the bonds of a planet Jim finds just too confining. He wishes he were up there already.  


He stuffs his hands into his pockets and hunches his shoulders against the cooling breeze.  


Thoughts chatter around his mind endlessly, and the Kobayashi Maru occupies most of them. The test that Jim is determined to beat, the one for which Spock appears to hold the key.

He desperately wants to beat the test because no one else has. He’s in it to win it, and the meeting with Spock just renewed his determination. Bones had not shared his optimism a few hours ago.

_“I’m gonna take the test again.”_

_“You’ve got to be kidding me! Don’t expect me to be there to see you embarrass yourself again. I’ve got better things to do.”_

_“Doesn’t it bother you no one’s ever passed?”_

_“Not at all. No one ever passes, and no one goes back for seconds.” He gives Jim a jaundiced look. “Apart from mull-headed morons, obviously.”_

_“Did you know they’re letting Spock work on some of the upgrades? He’s got the access and the knowledge. Spock’s the key to beating it.”_

_But Bones knows him too well, and can anticipate where this is going. “Have you completely lost your brains, kid? Better leave well alone. I don’t know if you’re aware, but Vulcans are three times stronger than the average Human.” Bones shakes his head. “You’ve got no self-preservation instinct at all.”_

_“It’ll be fine, Bones. Vulcans are pacifists, remember?”_

_“He’ll wave goodbye to his pacifism when he realizes you’ve landed him in the shit with the Admiralty. It’ll be like poking a tiger!” Bones shakes his head. “Just don’t come running to me to stitch you back together again when he’s ripped your head from your shoulders.”_

_Jim laughs. “Well, I won’t be running anywhere if my head’s been ripped from my body.”_

_“Whatever. Now stop your fool plotting and help me with a test that isn’t as hopeless as the Maru.” Bones snorts. “And given my track record with warp physics, that’s saying a lot.”_

Jim arrives home and bends to the retinal scanner which grants him entry to the sanctuary beyond with a soft click. 

A deep weariness has settled into his very bones. He hasn’t slept well enough for weeks, probably months, so he goes straight to the bedroom and changes for bed. 

But sleep eludes him. Lying there in the dark, he finds he is preoccupied with contradictory things. He’s trying to avoid thoughts of Gary, trying to formulate a plan for getting the information he needs from Spock, and trying to calm his mind enough to sleep, all at once. It’s not working.

His musings are interrupted by sharp scratching sounds floating up from the floorboards beneath him; the eerie echo of rat claws along the joists beneath the floor. The sound seems to crawl up his spine, as though the rodents are tap-dancing their way up it. The sound lodges itself in his brain and reverberates in his skull. He shudders and grabs a second pillow, trying vainly to block the sound out by making his head the filling in a pillow sandwich. He resigns himself to another sleepless night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters next week :)


	8. Chapter Seven

Jim hangs a few things onto the short, sagging clothes line in the back yard. It’s ridiculously early still, but recently sleep has proved elusive. The air is fresh, chilly and clear, but he is hopeful the laundry will dry in the bright May sunshine while he is at the Academy.

Light creeps at the edges of the horizon, framing the sky in a milky haze, but high above the stars still glisten like crystals; little pinpricks scattered thinly in the vast cold blackness of space. Occasional vapor-trails of air-traffic curve around them. Jim lifts his head and stares, eyes unfocused, until a star directly above claims his attention. 

He marvels that the star he is raptly gazing at is millions of years old, that he is not looking at the actual star but at the light that has taken eons to reach Earth. He is looking into the past and his mind boggles with the enormity of it. 

The star that pinprick of light represents could be long depleted. People too, depart, just like that, lost, and gone forever.

A memory explodes with agony so deep that he struggles to draw breath.

**

_The full moon illuminates the ground with a silvery radiance, while tendrils of dark cloud float across the indigo sky, occasionally masking that glow in a gossamer veil._

_The bike glides down the empty tarmac, the beam of its headlight cutting through the gathering gloom and lighting the highway ahead. Jim opens the throttle slightly and the bike picks up speed, its low-pitched whine the only sound carrying on the still evening air. Gary’s chest is pressed tightly against his back, and that warm, familiar presence is welcome on a raw October evening._

_One of Gary’s hands tugs gently at the front of his shirt, slowly pulling the garment free of his jeans. The hand sneaks beneath the fabric to slide along the warm skin of his stomach, and a quick kiss is placed at the nape of his neck. Cool fingers flutter upwards, and blunt nails graze a nipple and Jim’s breath hitches, a soft moan escaping his lips. The bike wobbles and veers sharply across the lane._

_“Gary!” Jim mock admonishes, amusement coloring his tone. “I’d like to live beyond the next five minutes.”_

_Gary huffs a chuckle in his ear, before pressing his body closer still, his breath hot against Jim’s skin. “Relax babe. We have decades before us.”_

_In the darkening night they reach the place where the hull of a starship is slowly and methodically being built, the structure rising majestically from the fields towards the high-domed Iowa sky. They sit astride the bike, cataloging the progress of the build since they last saw her. Eventually, no longer satisfied with this, they clamber over the outer fence, and keeping low, they cautiously edge nearer._

_Jim’s eyes widen with awe and excitement, and his breath catches as he gazes up at the partially constructed starship before him. This is the Enterprise, Starfleet’s flagship, being birthed on the plain. She’s what he is destined for, the ship he wants to serve on, maybe one day even captain. She’s beautiful, and Jim wonders if he’ll ever be able to drag his eyes away from her. Finally though, he looks to Gary, and he sees his own excitement mirrored back at him in Gary’s eyes._

_“When I’m captain of her, you can be my first officer,” Gary says, grinning at him._

_“Hey, don’t you mean when I’m captain, you’ll be first officer?”_

_“…In your dreams,” Gary scoffs._

_Jim bumps him with his arm, with just enough strength to cause Gary to take a small step back, and Gary laughs quietly. They grin at each other before turning back to survey the starship._

_The shipyard is deathly silent, not even a breeze to stir the chilly air. Relaxing slightly at the lack of security, they sit down on the grassy bank to gaze at the elegant vision before them. They sit in relaxed silence, warm thigh pressed to warm thigh, studying the starship taking shape on the wide empty plain._

**

He shoves the memory away as the hurt beneath his ribs twists viciously, a white hot knife slashing at his guts until they bleed. Eventually, after forcing himself to take deep breaths, the pain slowly recedes to its everyday ache. 

Now he’ll have to see the stars alone, where once they would have discovered them together. Gary is gone forever, their dream not yet gone, but never the same again. The stars blur behind a veil of tears, a lump blocks his throat and he has to blink rapidly and bend back to his task. 

The stars shine brightly and coldly above him, oblivious to his pain.

****

Later that evening after classes, Jim kicks his shoes off and flops onto the sofa, his head falling back in weariness as he puts his feet up on the coffee table. Another night spent in solitude. The silence and emptiness envelope him, and he feels more alone at this moment than he ever has. 

He wants to stay here and never get up, but his mother will drop by soon on her way to visiting Sam and Aurelan. So he only has a few moments more to himself, at best. He tries to keep his mind blank, which doesn’t work, so instead he decides to ruminate on Spock and the problem of how to obtain the Kobayashi Maru information the Vulcan holds.

Just as that thought crosses his mind the doorbell rings.

He drags himself from the sofa and goes to let her in. Winona Kirk smiles up at him as she crosses the threshold into the hall way, where they share a brief and awkward hug. He loves her, knows that she loves him, but their relationship is not always easy.

She still looks beautiful, her blonde hair only greying at the temples. 

She follows him into the kitchen where he busies himself with formalities.

“Coffee or tea?” He knows that she has developed a taste for exotic and herbal teas on her travels. He keeps some different kinds in stock for visits like this.

“Coffee please,” she says, surprising him. But then again, he reflects, Winona is always surprising him. “So what have you been up to?”

“Nothing much.” He shrugs. “Classes and studying take up most of my time.”

She appraises him frankly. “And you’re doing alright?”

“Yeah, sure…aren’t I always?” He tries to sound convincing, but he feels nauseous inside. He attempts to give her some semblance of his usual cocky grin, and knows by her expression that he has failed.

Winona looks like she’s about to say something, but decides against it. Instead she reaches into her bag. “Here, I made your favorite.” She hands a small, clear box of chocolate chip cookies to him. 

He smiles and takes them from her, relieved that she hasn’t called him out on his lie, but knowing that she’s probably only biding her time. “Thanks, mom.”

They carry on making polite and impersonal small talk as they wait for the coffee pot. Eventually they both retire to the living room and sit on the sofa. That’s when Winona decides to drop the bomb.

“What are you going to do with his things? Have you thought about sorting through them a little?” she begins tentatively and gently. Jim feels a flash of anger burn bright and hot for a few seconds; anger at her for even bringing the subject up. 

He hesitates, doesn’t want to go there. Neither does he want her sympathy. He’s heard enough kind but inane condolences to last him a lifetime. But he also knows that Winona, of all people, understands his pain, so in a small voice he responds, deciding that he can risk opening his heart a little. 

“Well, I can’t touch anything in the closet. I like the smell of his clothes, sometimes. It makes me feel close to him, helps me remember what he used to smell like. I’m afraid I’ll forget.” He keeps his eyes down, on his cup of coffee. He can’t really believe he’s confessing this, after all these months of bottling everything up. He’s not the kind of person to talk about his feelings, but the words come easier than he expected. “But then I wish I couldn’t remember.” He looks up at Winona, afraid of what he might see, aware that this could be a difficult subject for both of them. 

Winona contemplates him for a few seconds, as if considering something. She must reach a decision because she begins speaking, her voice far-away.

“I know the memories are painful now,” she says. “But one day you’ll be thankful for them, you’ll cherish them. The memories are what remain. Gary will live on in the happiness you knew and the dreams you shared.” 

She pauses, her eyes focused on something Jim can’t see, and he knows from long experience that she has retreated away from him, back into a past that no longer exists. “After your father died, someone said something to me that I still remember: ‘Say not in grief he is no more but live in thankfulness that he was'.” She huffs a bitter laugh, “easier said than done. 

“It’s frightening, being in love because it makes you so vulnerable. Loving your father was the best and the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. It was like…I was him and he was me.” 

She pauses. “I never saw any other future for myself other than with your father. I thought I’d grow old with him. I still can’t imagine growing old with anyone else.” A lump forms in Jim’s throat at the naked yearning in Winona’s eyes.

“I had our future all mapped out.” She offers a wry smile, an expression Jim recognizes as the close cousin of his own. “So much for that, huh?” 

Jim doesn’t know what to say. Winona hardly ever talks about the loss of her husband, the father he never knew. He can feel the sting of unshed tears gather.

“And grief, for me at least, was like standing behind a massive wall of ice. I could see and hear the rest of the world, but I was cut off, separated by this wall. But, I knew I had to be strong, for you and Sam, so I kept all the hurt and all the misery locked inside, until it festered and poisoned everything. I was too stubborn to let go.” She puts her hand over Jim’s arm and smiles softly. “I can see you’re just as damn stubborn as I am.”

Tears begin to slide down Jim’s face. He can feel himself start to fly apart. He feels something give way inside, like a dam bursting, and he cannot hold back the flood.

“Sometimes I realize I’ve just been sitting here on the sofa for hours completely numb.” The tears run down his face. He puts his head in his hands; he can’t bring himself to make eye-contact anymore. He’s ashamed of his emotional display, ashamed of how after so many months he can’t seem to move on.

“The holo-vid can be playing, or the comm ringing…and I’m crying. It’s ridiculous. I’m a grown man, for God’s sake. I’m James Kirk.”

His face is awash with tears. He wants to clamp his mouth shut, but it is all flooding out and he can’t stop. 

“I miss him… I just miss him so much.” He draws a sharp breath that stings his throat. “I’ll think there’s no point going to bed and no point getting up, because he’s not here.”

He sobs brokenly, breath heaving in great gasps. Rage and anger ignite in a bright flame at his core.

“I get so angry sometimes, and I don’t even know why. Mostly with him. I’m so angry with him for leaving. I can’t forgive him for that. He wasn’t supposed to leave me.” He wipes at his eyes, tries to stop the tears from falling. “Damn it!”

He takes a deep breath and tries to compose himself, but when he speaks again his voice is a broken whisper. “How can someone fix a great big fucking hole in their heart? Where do I even start?”

“You will honey, you will in time.” She puts her hand on his arm and squeezes. He relaxes into the contact, savoring it. There were too few such touches in his childhood, Winona often light-years away for months at a time. He takes more comfort from this one touch than from all her words. Her words, he wants to believe her, but doesn’t know if he can. Winona’s intelligent, strong and warm and funny, but even twenty-four years after his father’s death there’s still a sadness that clings to her like an invisible shroud. 

He’s suddenly embarrassed by his outburst, embarrassed that Winona has witnessed him like this. But he knows that she understands. He knows that she would take his pain upon herself if she could. 

Soft hands pull him to her. He is embraced again with none of the stiffness of their greeting, the soft scent of vanilla assaulting his senses. Her hands softly card through his hair as he rests his head on her shoulder.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Mortified, he makes to pull away from her. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” He’s horrified too, that he is covering her shoulder in a disgusting mixture of snot and tears. “Damn. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. No point trying to bottle it up.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Sush honey, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s just clothing.” She regards him, love and sadness in her eyes. “You look tired. Please try and get more sleep.” She touches his cheek, and places a quick kiss against his forehead. 

“Thanks, Mom.” He smiles feebly. 

****

Brilliant white surrounds him, stretching on all sides as far as the eye can see. It’s so bright it burns its image on his retinas and he has to squint against it.

He is standing in a stark landscape, horizon meeting milky sky, the lack of color so total it makes his brain ache. 

No sign of life, no sign of anything. The silence is deafening. He is alone, he does not understand how he got here, and why is he alone? Where did everyone go?

It’s bitterly cold here, artic cold. He realizes he is standing on snow and ice. Panic rises in his chest, because he cannot remember what brought him here. He desperately tries to remember.

He’s frozen to the marrow. His breath rises in front of him in a frosty spiral. So cold it feels as though the moisture in his eyes is freezing. He has no tears left anyway. He wraps his arms around his body in a futile effort to conserve warmth.

He thinks he sees the ghostly silhouette of someone walking in the distance, stark against the pale sky. He feels a flutter of relief, he isn’t alone here then.

He starts to walk towards them, but the going is painfully slow. The bitter cold works its way into his veins, wrapping icy tendrils around his heart. So frozen he could shatter into a million shards if hit by just a feather. 

Something crunches beneath his feet. He looks down. Under his foot and sweeping away from him in an arc towards the horizon, is a swathe of flowering snowdrops. Their small green leaves and delicate white blooms crystalized in ice. The ones he stepped on have shattered, like glass, and crumbled to dust beneath his boot. He frowns at the strange anomaly; the frozen flowers are the only thing in this desolate landscape. Well, apart from himself and the stranger on the horizon. He looks up quickly, hurries to catch-up with the shadow in the distance, anxious not to be left behind.

His goal remains disturbingly just out of reach. He begins to grow concerned. Please don’t leave me. Gary, don’t leave me alone, his mind screams. Everyone else has left me.

As he slips and slides across the ice, he can feel it begin to give slightly beneath his boots. He looks down in alarm. There’s a deep popping sound, like a cork springing free from a bottle. His heart starts thudding loudly in his chest. 

With a sudden ominous creaking sound the ice begins to crack. He scans the landscape for firmer ground, but only barren wasteland stretches before him. 

Seconds later the world tilts alarmingly as the ice breaks with a loud snap, dropping him into the freezing water. As his body hits the icy liquid his vision goes dark, and for a second he cannot see anything, only inky blackness. Fear sweeps over him before he resolutely pushes it away. He has to keep calm. He kicks his way back to the surface and treads water while he tries to figure a way out of his predicament.

He will die soon, he is sure. He wants to live, he doesn’t want to die, damnit. 

His thoughts are unravelling, and a creeping numbness spreads itself through his limbs. His clothes are heavy and he’s being dragged under. He tries to resist the water’s pull, but he is too exhausted. Panic flares bright in his chest.

He can almost feel the ice crystals forming painfully inside his veins, long bitter shards skulking inch by inch. He is being frozen from the inside out. 

He slips under the surface and freezing water rushes painfully into his lungs. Sheer terror fills him, and he struggles wildly in his desperation to reach the surface. Instead he sinks deeper into the murky icy depths, the darkness closing in around him. He looks up to see the ice reforming above his head, sealing him in a dark, watery, glacial tomb. 

He is lost. 

****

Jim shoots up in bed, breath heaving in great gasps. He sits there, heart racing so fast the beats seem to bleed into one another. Sweat cools on his skin. His hands grip the duvet so uncomfortably tight and a slight tremor washes over his body.

He closes his eyes but he can still see the bleak landscape painted across his mind, so he opens them again and concentrates on becoming calm. He pulls in deep slow breaths, trying to remember the breathing exercises he learnt once. Usually after a nightmare he’ll try to think of happy thoughts, but he dare not let his mind wander, as too frequently it goes to places he has no wish to visit.

He stays like this for an age, before he finally composes himself enough to get out of bed on shaky legs and stumble into the shower. He turns the water up, as hot as he can stand it. He has to defrost his blood, which feels sluggish in his veins. He is so cold, so freezing cold. He stands under the searing water for a long time, he doesn’t know how long. He has to remember to breathe.

The grief penetrates his very bones and his body feels heavy with it. It’s unbearable. He rests his head against the tiles as the water cascades over him. Eventually, he feels nothing.


	9. Chapter Eight

He’s cold. The hot water ran out a long time ago and his joints are stiff from standing naked and wet in the shower. 

With a shaky hand he turns the water off. After towelling himself dry he goes back into the bedroom, which is still immersed in inky darkness. He raises the lights marginally, but doesn’t bother checking the chronometer. He’s not really interested in knowing how much time he has to kill before dawn breaks.

He eyes the bed warily. He really should try and get some sleep; he’s long past exhaustion and running on empty. He has a brief internal debate with himself over the issue, but the nightmare has unsettled him more than he cares to admit, and the prospect of lying in bed, staring into darkness, waiting for the sky to lighten, doesn’t fill him with enthusiasm. 

Instead he pulls on pants and a sweater - Gary’s sweater, the one he usually keeps on the pillow next to him. He hasn’t washed any of Gary’s clothes yet, as he likes to imagine there are still traces of his clean masculine scent lingering on them. He wears this particular sweater often, so much so that it’s probably filthy now, and smells more of Jim than it does of Gary. But he likes to think that some sense of Gary still clings to the fibers.

He grabs the duvet from the bed and pads softly into the living room, switching the holo-vid on. It casts its pale flickering light over the room, painting it in ghostly shadows, and Jim doesn’t feel quite so alone. He drops the duvet onto the sofa, intending to lie in front of the holo-vid for a few hours, when his eye catches the little model starship on his bookshelf. An earlier version of the Enterprise, the one Admiral Archer captained, not the version currently being built on the dusty plains of Iowa. 

He crosses the room and picks the small model up, holding it at eye level as he contemplates it. The tiny ship is all sleek lines and graceful curves. The one under construction in Riverside will be even better, Jim knows. He can’t wait to captain her. He’s just not sure if he’s really worthy of that honor. He suspects that no one back in Riverside believes he is. 

Mrs. Mitchell had certainly not considered him good enough for her son. In her eyes he was just the screw-up with a lengthening rap sheet, the town pariah, leaving mayhem and destruction in his wake. 

He sighs and places the model back on the bookshelf. He really ought to go back to bed. It’s been a long and tiring day, and the pity party currently taking place in his head is not pretty. Instead he switches the holo-vid to a music channel and finds one playing early 21st century rock and indie. His taste in music is diverse, but he has a soft spot for the retro stuff.

He goes to the kitchen and replicates himself some coffee to ward off the chill inside. The strong rich smell of the replicated coffee permeates the room, evoking other memories.

_Jim disembarks from the transport and makes his way through the busy shuttle station in Des Moines. Unfortunately, he still has time to kill until the next one leaves for Riverside._

_He finds an empty bench and sits, slouched, arms thrown across the back of the seat. It doesn’t take him long to become aware of a smooth, but rather loud, male voice behind him. Not that Jim’s really eavesdropping, but as the moron appears to be unable to reduce his decibel level to anything like discreet conversation, he figures he really hasn’t got much choice. From what Jim can make out the man seems to be droning on about some medical procedure in gory detail, interspersed with lame chat-up lines. Really! Jim’s so not interested. He rolls his eyes and goes in search of coffee._

_With Espresso and chocolate chip muffin in hand Jim tries to find a spare seat in the small coffee outlet. He grabs one at the only free table. He glances at an overhead chronometer. He’s happy to note that he has time to savor his drink._

_“Mind if I sit here? You’ve got the only table with seats going spare.”_

_Jim recognizes that voice. The moron. With an internal grimace, Jim reluctantly looks up, to find a tall, gorgeous stranger grinning down at him._

_“Sure, it’s a free country,” Jim responds, offering a bright smile of his own. The stranger sits and Jim is struck by big dark eyes, lighted with flecks of amber sparkling like cut glass. Jim’s suddenly a whole lot more interested._

He shakes his head to scatter the memory, pain squeezing his heart. As he picks up the mug the tremor in his hand causes a minor storm in the liquid. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Still some of the hot coffee spills over the top of the mug as he carries it out of the kitchen. 

Back in the living room he puts the coffee on the table and sits slumped forward on the edge of the sofa, forearms resting on his knees. 

After a while he realizes that he has been staring at the floor blindly - though he can’t say for sure how long he has sat there in the gloom - and he sits up with a start. His eyes feel gritty and dry as he slowly casts them around the murky room, before they alight on the little poison dish sitting on the floor. He’s so useless he can’t even manage to kick out the rats. At least he’s managed to dispense with George’s services, the world’s most inept rat-catcher (though the man still has to come back for his dishes).  


He really should take Bones’ advice and get rid of this place. The house is joyless and grey without Gary. Too many evenings Jim finds himself drifting like a wraith from one room to the next. Not to mention it’s not much fun sharing the space with his little furry house guests. 

But he has to admit that he isn’t quite ready to let go yet, the home is full of memories of Gary, of the life they shared together. The memories surround him, stalking him like phantoms in every piece of furniture they brought together, in every wall they decorated. It echoes with their life together, and he desperately wants that life back. If there were only a way the clock could be turned back. But he knows that some things just can’t be recaptured not for any amount of wishing. 

_The world outside the fast moving air-tram slides past in a blur of color. It’s nearly reached its destination, where Jim will pass through Des Moines shuttle port for the last time. He rubs a hand over his bruised jaw, suppressing a wince. One eye is slowly closing shut and no doubt turning black. He’s hyper conscious of the electronic pink slip nestled in the in-box of his PADD. Winona is going to kill him, especially as he’s got the can from the construction job, the latest in a lengthening line, for fighting._

_His thoughts turn to Gary. His heart skips a beat at the thought of him. Jim has been meeting him regularly at the shuttle port while awaiting his connection. If Jim stops to think about it, it’s like the old cliché of lovers meeting and departing at those long obsolete train stations._

_The tram pulls into a terminal and Jim alights. Gary is waiting, as usual, and steps forward to meet him. Jim can see concern wash over his expression as he looks at Jim’s bruised and battered face._

_“You should see the other guy,” Jim says, attempting to make light of it._

_“You mean someone actually looks worse than you do?” Gary responds with a raised brow._

_As it turns out Jim doesn’t have to face Winona as Gary takes him back to his place, for the first time, to gently dab his cuts and bruises with a damp cloth and antiseptic. Later still, he kisses every single one of those cuts and bruises better. Jim never leaves._

A dark miasma of grief curls its icy tendrils around his lungs making it difficult to breathe. It pierces like barbed wire coiling in his chest.

He pulls in deep breaths until the pain recedes, before throwing himself down on the sofa to stare up at the kaleidoscope of light and shade dancing over the ceiling. 

Gary had taken him out of his old life, where he’d just been drifting aimlessly from one bad situation to the next. He’d shown him other things to live for, shown him that his life could have purpose. 

Gary was the only one other than Bones who had bothered to look past the bullshit that is his armor. 

Now he’s left him too, when he promised that he wouldn’t. He’s heard it said before that death is the price to pay for the privilege of being alive. Well, that sucks!

Jim throws an arm over his eyes, blocking out the mottled shadows on the ceiling. His thoughts spiral to the man whose absence has left a huge gap in his life, despite his best efforts to stop them.

Gary, with his well above average esper rating, and sunny outgoing disposition. Gary, who was always untidy, even a little scruffy. He would leave his clothes strewn over the bedroom, wet towels coating the bathroom floor, and his toenail clippings in the sink.

But he was also funny and generous. He was exhaustingly energetic, even Jim struggled to keep up with him. He was so full of energy that he would often skip sleeping at least once a week and Jim would invariably find him asleep on the sofa in front of the holo-vid on a Saturday afternoon, snoring gently, a dribble of drool at the corner of his mouth.

Jim misses the little things, the ordinary everyday mundane moments. Lying in bed on lazy Sundays, the sunlight creeping across the floor, wrapped in each other’s arms, only rousing for slow and languid love-making. Messing with the house together, playing video games together, taking a shower together, wrestling each other for the last cookie, eating Chinese take-out while watching Gary’s beloved old movies. 

He wishes he had a dimmer switch for his brain. The memories are too intense. They hang like a fog of noxious choking gas. He doesn’t want to confront them again, so with an effort he pushes them away, back into the dark recesses of his mind.

He checks the chronometer, it’s well past midnight. A fresh new day, or from Jim’s point of view, a stale new day. A day like all the previous ones since last summer, a vast dark ocean of grief and pain stretching out before him, seemingly endless, and Jim with no idea how to cross it to reach the other side. 

He pushes the duvet away and sits up on the sofa, rubs a hand over the back of his neck. The coffee he made earlier sits untouched and cold on the table. He should really go to bed now. Just as he’s about to switch off the holo-vid, he hears Gary’s voice singing along with the song. 

He pauses and listens instead as the beloved voice washes over him.

_“I need you more than I can take, you promise forever and a day, and then you take it all away,” _Gary sings tunelessly.__

Jim smiles to himself. Whatever other talents Gary had possessed singing wasn’t one of them.

_“..I’m buried in the snow, but something tells me I’m not alone.”_

Jim stills in place. This is different, not like the previous times when Gary has spoken to him. It’s like he can sense a presence behind him, the sense that he is no longer alone in the room. A shiver runs up his spine. The hairs slowly rise on the back of his neck. 

He is sure whatever, or whoever is in the room with him has moved closer. He holds himself still and the breath stops in his lungs. He can feel the presence standing close now, just over his left shoulder. He can feel the brush of cold air against his neck and his heart nearly stops in his chest.

He steels himself before he slowly turns around, to confront a sight that freezes him in disbelief. Gary is standing there watching him silently, a tentative smile upon his lips. 

Jim’s heart lurches, stops, and starts again with a fast unsteady beat. He can hear it loud in his ears, as shock reverberates through him. 

He is incredulous. Gary takes another step closer, and another, all the while regarding Jim solemnly, approaching as though Jim were a skittish animal. Finally Jim breaks out of his daze and leaps off the sofa. He throws his arms around Gary’s neck, clinging tightly. He feels Gary embrace him in return.

He keeps a tight hold of Gary, as he breaks down and sobs. He can’t believe this is happening. He pulls back slightly to look at Gary’s face, to run his fingers over the well-remembered features, the high sharply defined cheekbones and full lips, trying to reassure himself that this is not a hallucination. But the face is real. Gary is real. He puts his head on Gary’s shoulder and hugs him tight, disbelief and relief warring inside him. His body is trembling violently and he wonders if he can continue to hold himself upright.

One of Gary’s hands comes up to hold the back of his neck, fingers gently stroking the short hairs there, as he places soft kisses across Jim’s temple. 

Not for the first time, Jim wonders if he’s going insane.

****

It must be nearly morning, as Jim can see pale watery light creeping beneath the blind, just barely illuminating the room. 

He is lying on top of the covers on the bed, still clothed. Gary is pressed up tightly behind him. His head is tucked under Gary’s chin, his back pressed to Gary’s chest.

Such a thing should be impossible. Maybe he is losing his mind after all. But there’s no denying that Gary is here, solid and real against him. 

He spent earlier, after recovering from the initial shock of Gary’s reappearance, trying to find an explanation for this inexplicable turn of events. Gary flopped down onto the sofa, feet propped on the coffee table, amusement radiating from every line of his body as Jim ran around, first checking Gary with a tricorder and then when that showed nothing amiss, checking his own brain waves. As though to prove he was still functioning normally and was not hallucinating. 

When Jim started talking of the possibility of hidden holo-projectors, Gary evidently decided that Jim’s sleep deprived brain had reached the end of the track and he took hold of Jim’s hand and led him to the bedroom.

Gary has tried many times throughout the night to persuade him to sleep. But he can’t sleep. Too many thoughts and questions are buzzing through his head. Besides, if he falls asleep now he might wake to find it was all a dream and Gary’s gone again.

As the initial shock recedes Jim feels he’s recovered enough to ask some questions, so he begins quietly and tentatively. 

“What’s it like?” He pauses not sure of how to phrase his question. “Dying, I mean.”

“Dying’s okay. It was the general anesthetic I didn’t like.”

“I’m serious,” Jim says, on the verge of laughter.

“It’s hard to describe really. Like standing behind a glass wall while everyone else went on missing me. It didn’t hurt,” Gary reassures him.

“How are you here? How did you manage to come back?” he asks, because the very idea goes against the laws of nature as he knows them.

“Maybe I didn’t die properly. Maybe that’s why I can come back,” Gary continues.

“Huh,” Jim says, confused because Gary definitely did die, there was a casket and a funeral and everything, as Jim knows painfully well. He sits up and turns to look at Gary, pushing the other man onto his back. “I gotta admit I’m struggling to take this in. Where do I even start?” He runs his hands over Gary’s clothed chest, as much to reassure himself that Gary is real and here with him, than anything else.

“You’re really here?” he says, grinning widely.

A small smile lights Gary’s face. “Yes, I’m here.”

“I haven’t lost it then?”

“No, you’re perfectly sane,” Gary softly reassures him.

Suddenly Jim feels pensive. Apprehension bubbles up as something occurs to him.

“Are you staying?” he asks quietly, afraid of the answer.

“Well, I’d like to, if you want me to.”

“Of course I want you to stay. I want it more than anything,” Jim responds, his voice cracking with suppressed emotion.

He runs his hand gently along Gary’s cheek and jaw. “You feel a little cold,” he says.

“That’s because I am damn cold.” Gary frowns. “This house is freezing!”

“Well, the heat is on,” says Jim, squeezing Gary harder to make him warmer. 

“I’ve never liked this house.” Exasperation colors Gary’s voice. “I told you not to buy it. Does anything work right in this dump?”

Jim just laughs and lies back down against Gary’s chest; his head nestled under Gary’s chin, his arm thrown across Gary’s waist. Joy and happiness threaten to burst out of his every pore. Gary hugs him tightly in return.

They lie in silence a while, as the room grows slowly lighter. 

“Thank you for missing me,” Gary whispers.

“I have…I do,” Jim says softly. “I did.”

“Your pain…I couldn’t bear it,” Gary says quietly.

Jim swallows the lump in his throat, and tightens his grip.

He wants to ask many more questions, but months of inadequate sleep have taken their toll, and he can feel himself becoming increasingly drowsy.

A delicious lethargy begins to spread through his limbs, warming him from within. Reassured that Gary will still be here when he wakes, he allows his eyes to slip closed.

For the first time in what feels like forever, he falls into a deep and dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Gary was singing along with, was 'Figure 8' - Ellie Goulding from the album Halcyon


	10. Chapter Nine

A beam of early morning sunlight slips between the almost closed slats of the blind, dust motes dancing in its golden ray. Jim squeezes his eyes shut and burrows a little further under the duvet, even though the room is almost unbearably hot. He has classes today, but he doesn’t want to get up.

He’s missed two days so far, after he rang in sick the morning after Gary returned. It’s not that he wants to miss classes; he’s never missed a single class in his entire time at the academy, before the last two days. It’s not that he wants to fail. He wants to captain Enterprise one day. It’s just that he can’t bear to be parted from Gary. What if one day he comes home to find Gary gone, to find it’s all been some bizarre dream? He simply wants to stay here with Gary. So he pretends he’s still asleep.

They’ve spent the last two days hanging around the house together; talking, watching movies, or just cuddling on the sofa. Gary had tried to persuade him to go to classes the second day to no avail. 

He can hear the other man enter the room, and the bed dips and creaks as Gary climbs on to sit beside him. Jim doesn’t move, instead keeping up the pretense of sleep, his body motionless and his breathing deep and even. 

The bed creaks again and he can feel soft breath tickling against his left ear. “Wakey, wakey, rise and shine. Time to get up! You’ll be late for classes.” His voice is just a little too loud for comfort.

Jim winces internally, but doesn’t respond. 

_“The weather man says its fine today, there’ not a cloud to come my way, but it’s raining, raining in my heart,” _Gary sings tunelessly, his mouth still close to Jim’s ear.__

“Go away!” Jim says, annoyed.

He can suddenly feel something wet and lukewarm dribble into his ear. It rushes loudly and almost painfully through his ear canal. He shoots up like he’s been shot, till he’s sitting upright in bed.

“What the fuck!” He glares at Gary, who sits there grinning at him like a loon, a small glass of water in one hand. “You dumbass!”

Gary laughs. “Aren’t you going to the Academy today?”

Jim scowls before lying down in bed again, closing his eyes. “I’m ill.”

“You’re not ill.”

“I’m sick,” Jim insists.

“You’re not sick,” comes the infuriating response.

“I am,” Jim says petulantly. “I’ve got a stomach ache.”

“You shouldn’t miss again. Do you want to fail?”

“No, of course not,” Jim says. But he makes no move to get out of bed.

“You should go to classes. It’s important.”

It’s quite clear to him that Gary is not going to give up. Jim sits up in bed and turns to regard him. 

“Aren’t you hot?” Jim says, trying to change the subject. The sheets beneath him are damp with sweat, but Gary is dressed as though he’s off on a trip to Antarctica, sweater and thick jacket wrapped tightly around him.

“No! I’m freezing. I’ve been trying to fix the central heating. It’s unbelievable! It must be completely busted, but I can’t find the problem.”

“It’s working great. It must be 80 degrees in here!” Maybe he should go to the Academy after all. At least it’ll be cooler there. 

He remembers too that there’s another reason he must attend today. It’s the day he’s meeting with Spock to visit the first school on their itinerary. He can’t let Pike down. But he worries about Gary being alone all day. “What will you do while I’m gone?”

“Me? Don’t worry about me. I’ve got lots of things to keep me busy. I’ve been taking Vulcan language lessons.”

“I knew it! When you were…you know…just talking to me you’d say things to me in Vulcan.” Jim feels mischievousness bubble up and he smirks at Gary. “The accent sucks, but…” A pillow hits him up the side of his head. He laughs.

He gets out of bed. No point in delaying the inevitable. He knows he has to go back. Gary is certainly not going to give him any peace on the subject. 

Jim stretches until his spine pops. “Think I’ll head out today after all, if it means you get off my case.” 

“Finally! I thought I’d never get through to you,” Gary says, swatting him on the ass.

“Ow!” He shoots Gary a mock glare, undermined by his lips already curling into a grin, before ambling into the living room. 

As he suspects, there are more than a dozen messages on the comm, most of them from Bones, each message becoming steadily more irascible in tone than the previous one. It’s another good reason to put in an appearance at the Academy before the doctor comes to beat down his front door and stage an intervention. 

Gary enters the room and places a mug of coffee in Jim’s hand. He shivers. “Can I turn the heat up?”

Jim looks at him as if he’s crazy. “Turn it up more? You’ve got to be kidding. It can’t go up any farther, can it?” He looks down at his own sweating, over-heated skin. He’ll definitely need to take a shower before he leaves. 

“Well, I have to be careful,” Gary is saying. “Can you imagine if I got a cold now? It could last forever.”

Jim laughs briefly and smiles at Gary. It’s hard to stay annoyed with him for long. It always was.

“Thank you,” Jim says quietly.

“For what?”

“For coming back.” He takes a sip of his coffee before putting the mug down – Gary’s antics have made it much too warm for that - and heads to the shower. Better get going if he’s not going to be late.

****

It’s early afternoon, and as Jim makes his way across campus he whistles softly to himself. He’s spent most of the day thinking about Gary, and counting down the hours and minutes until he can return home. 

He sees the world as though for the first time, it’s like he never really saw it before, or at least not like this. The colors seem so bright, everything seems clean and new. 

On one side of the skyline the Marin Headlands stretch out under the golden sunlight. In the other direction the Pacific laps gently at the shore. The bridge looks so close that he can almost imagine being able to reach out and touch its cold and ancient ironwork. Hover cars zip along the periphery, and high above small aircraft and air trams circle, their shiny hulls catching and glinting in the sunlight.

The scent of freshly mown grass hangs heavy in the air, and he breathes deeply of the sweet aroma. He loves the smell; it always reminds him of long hot summers and ice cold beers.

He offers smiles and nods to the staff and Cadets who pass him. The ones who are aware of his loss look at him askance, bewildered by his sudden change in mood. He doesn’t care. Nothing can dampen his spirits. Nothing can bring him down from the high.

He reminds himself that he’ll have to be careful around Bones. Indeed, Bones scrutinized him earlier that morning, eyes narrowing in suspicion when faced with Jim’s sunny disposition. Jim can’t just tell Bones that Gary has come back from the dead. He’d be sectioned before he could blink. He reluctantly comes to the conclusion that he might have to avoid Bones for the next few days. 

He makes his way to the entrance of the Academy, where he’s meeting Spock for their first school visit. Spock assured him he has transport, so Jim stands and waits on the sidewalk for the Vulcan to show. 

He passes the time by planning his strategy for getting the information on the Maru that Spock holds. The obvious first step is to figure out the extent of Spock’s knowledge. Just because he’s been allowed to help on the upgrades, doesn’t mean he has the key to beat the test. So, Jim concludes, he should try and raise the subject and see if he can pick up clues from Spock’s responses. He’ll have to be careful with what he says and which questions he asks; it wouldn’t do to raise Spock’s suspicions. 

He is roused from his contemplation by the sound of a hover-car pulling smoothly to a stop near the curb beside him. Its dark blue and obviously well-maintained without a speck of dust on it. The paintwork gleams with a bright pearlescent sheen in the early afternoon sunlight. He can just glimpse Spock in the driver’s seat through tinted windows.

Jim opens the door and slips into the passenger seat. The car looks just as expensive on the inside as it does on the outside. The dash is lit with holographic readouts for of air speed, fuel consumption, geopositioning, and some other information he can’t quite figure out. Jim runs a hand over his seat, cool and smooth beneath his fingers. It looks and feels like black leather, but he’s pretty sure Vulcans are vegetarian, so it must be synthetic. The whole vehicle is classy but not ostentatious. 

The hover-car pulls effortlessly away from the sidewalk and climbs swiftly over the city. Judging from the dash holos it will literally take only a few minutes for them to arrive at their destination. 

“Nice ride,” Jim remarks.

“Indeed. I borrowed it from the Embassy.” 

A diplomat’s car then, Jim thinks. He’s reminded again that Spock’s father is the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth. 

A few minutes later the hover-car makes its descent to land in the school grounds. The school is a large, red-brick building, with lots of tall, narrow windows and a tree-lined car park. 

He steps out of the car, takes a deep breath, and attempts to project an aura of calm, composed authority. This is not the time and place for his usual cocky demeanor. Regardless of his own mixed feelings on recruitment drives he doesn’t want to let himself, Spock, or Pike down.

“You appear to be nervous. Is there something amiss?” Spock’s voice breaks in on his contemplation. 

He turns to look at Spock. “Oh, I just... I’m not sure I’m the best person to give advice to teenagers,” he admits a bit self-consciously.

“Certainly Captain Pike assigned you this task for a reason,” Spock responds, with what Jim thinks is just a hint of confusion in his voice.

“If you knew what I was like five years ago, you wouldn’t think so.” 

“The Academy has changed you for the better?” Spock tilts his head slightly to the side as he watches Jim.

“Yeah. Yeah, it really has.” He realizes it’s true; it has changed him for the better. Well, that and meeting Gary.

“Then might I propose you are, in fact, the best person to advocate for a career path in Starfleet.” With that Spock walks smoothly away towards the entrance of the building leaving Jim lost in thought, because it’s suddenly become crystal clear why Pike assigned him this duty. Well damn, he’s Starfleet’s poster boy.

****

It went better than Jim expected. The students stayed awake – always a bonus – and seemed interested and asked intelligent questions. Not too bad, he thinks. With practice their pitch will become more polished. 

The Principal had offered them use of the school canteen before they departed. Jim hadn’t really planned on staying long. All day he’s been counting down the seconds until he can get back to Gary. But Spock didn’t seem in a hurry to leave, and Jim thought maybe it would be a good opportunity to pick his brain on the Maru. It would be a shame to waste it.

He buys a Zero Gravity and goes to sit at the table that Spock has already staked out.

He slouches in the chair, his left hand playing with the can of soda on the table in front of him, his right arm resting over the back of the chair. Spock sits neatly across from him, sipping from a glass of water.

He studies Spock with surreptitious glances, before dropping his eyes back down to his soda. An aura of confident stillness seems to radiate from Spock. It’s not so much that he’s introverted, Jim thinks, merely that he’s content to quietly observe the world. 

But quiet observation will get Jim nowhere. He feigns nonchalance and proceeds cautiously.

“So let me get this straight? You’re doing the Academy in three years, and they’re letting you work on the Kobayashi Maru?” He hopes that Spock will just assume he’s picking up the thread of their conversation from the library, and not read anything more into it.

“Indeed.”

“I still can’t believe they’re letting a Cadet work on that.”

An eyebrow inches upwards. “I fail to see why not. As I have previously stated, I have already taken the test, so therefore my participation in the upgrades cannot affect future performance.”

“If you say so,” Jim responds, trying to keep his tone light, playful.

“Besides,” continues Spock, “I am not the only Cadet working on the upgrade.”

“Oh?” Jim responds with interest. This is news to him.

“Cadet Gaila is also providing assistance in this endeavor.”

Jim frowns. Uhura’s roommate. He had no idea she was also involved in the upgrade. Is every talented cadet involved apart from him? He feels irked, and channels the feeling into a new approach. 

“You know, I’ve never understood the test. What’s the point if no-one can pass? The whole point of a test is to measure something, but what are you measuring if everybody fails?” 

Spock regards him over the rim of his glass. Jim cannot read his expression, so he holds his breath and waits. Spock slowly places the glass down and folds his hands on the table before him. 

“Essentially the test is a measurement of a cadet’s reaction to a no-win scenario.”

"I don't believe in no-win scenarios."

An eyebrow shoots up at this statement. “Then you fail to understand the principle lesson and purpose of the test."

“Which is?”

“To experience fear,” says Spock serenely. As if Vulcans could understand what that meant.

“Fear?”

“Fear in the face of certain death. To accept that fear and maintain control of oneself and one's crew. Starfleet expects such a quality of those in command."

Fear, Spock says. Jim already knows what fear feels like. 

_Like Frank lumbering up the stairs behind him, shouting that he’s a ‘goddamn liar.’ Like the click of a bathroom lock, and angry fists beating against the door of his only sanctuary. Like the door creaking and reverberating with the force of Frank’s rage. Like biting his lip to hold back hysterical laughter, because nothing about this is funny, so that can’t be a normal response._

_Like ‘nobody cares about you, you’re no-one, you’re worthless, your own mother can’t stand the sight of you, that’s why she’s always off-planet, that’s why Sam left.’_

He comes back to the present to find Spock’s dark eyes watching him intently, his brows drawn slightly together in a miniature frown. Spock is looking at him as though Jim were a specimen under a tricorder in the lab, something to be dissected and studied. 

Jim curses himself, and reigns in his thoughts. It’s a bad habit he seems to have picked up over the months spent sitting alone in front of the holo-vid with only his own mind for company. He wonders what emotions crossed his face for Spock to see, and he resists the urge to squirm. Schooling his features so they’d fit in at a high stakes poker game, he slumps forward, crossing his arms on the table. 

“How can it be a real test of fear though?” Kirk persists. “It’s just a simulation, and everyone knows that. Even making it as realistic as possible doesn’t change the facts.”

“This is true,” Spock concedes, “however, as we cannot actually take a shuttle of Cadets and abandon them in the Neutral Zone to face Klingon Warbirds, the Kobayashi Maru is the best tool we have for evaluating certain emotional responses.”

Was that humor? From a Vulcan? Jim doesn’t comment, and he’s in no mood for jokes anyway. He understands the need to be tested but the whole test still strikes him as ridiculous. However, ridiculous or not, he’s still determined to beat it. 

“So are you just tinkering with it or are you re-programming the whole thing to, uh…better induce fear?”

He holds his breath as Spock contemplates him. He tries to appear relaxed, to affect an air of not really caring if the question is answered or not. 

“Why do you ask?” 

“No reason.” He looks Spock straight in the eye as this lie slips from his lips. “I’m not stupid enough to fail it twice, but I’d love to know if there’s something worse coming up for the converts we just made.” He gives a small grin.

“Illogical.”

Jim shrugs. “It makes me feel better.”

Spock seems to hesitate a beat before he says, “It is a major re-programming.”

Jim gives an internal cheer. Just the response he was looking for. 

It’s also not escaped Jim’s attention that whenever he says something Spock is not expecting, such as not believing in no win scenarios, or whenever he acts in an unpredictable manner, and he cringes as he recalls zoning out, it seems to wrong foot the Vulcan or at any rate to intrigue him. He files this new insight away for future use.

“It’s actually programmed to be unwinnable, isn’t it?” Jim continues, before Spock can analyse the previous question too much.

“Sometimes reality is unwinnable,” Spock says after a moment, which isn’t a straight answer, but it tells Jim all he needs to know. “When winning is not an achievable goal, the objective must then be to preserve and protect as many as one can. That is the Captain’s task. That is the task of whoever is forced to take the test,” a beat, “that is what your father did aboard the Kelvin.” 

Spock has hit a nerve, and Kirk bristles.

“I agree, reality is sometimes unwinnable, but you increase your chances of survival, of success, if you think outside the box,” he says, his tone bordering on argumentative. “In a real-life crisis, it’s actions taken outside the accepted rules that will bring success. Going by the book is often the quickest route to disaster. You need to think outside the parameters, surprise needs to be met with surprise.”

“I fail to ascertain how you came to this conclusion,” Spock says, a frown darkening his features. “Given that your experience of space travel is limited to the day of your birth, you are clearly basing your methodology on assumption and emotion.”

Jim glares at Spock. Is Spock actually oblivious to how rude that sounded, or is he deliberately trying to piss Jim off? Clearly this conversation soured somewhere along the line, and he’s not in the mood to analyse where. Better to end this now, before something is said that both of them will regret.

“We should get back to the Academy,” he says, rising abruptly from his chair, causing it to scrape along the floor with a noise that sets his teeth on edge. Spock rises too, but Jim doesn’t wait to see how Spock reacts, doesn’t wait for the Vulcan to say anything else patronizing. He simply turns on his heel and leaves the canteen, not looking forward to the ride ahead of them. He only wants to go home and relax with Gary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah sorry, the path of true love doesn't always run smooth, does it ;)
> 
> Writers apparently live for feedback... :)


	11. Chapter Ten

Jim quickly makes his way homeward down the tree lined street, the dense late spring foliage affording a shadowy canopy over his head. It’s been another long day at the Academy, but he’s nearly home. He can see the house at the top of the road, its cream-painted, weather-beaten façade bathed in the golden hue of a rapidly sinking Sol. He smiles to himself as he sees the porch light glowing dimly to welcome him, even though it’s not quite dark.

It’s been a week since Gary returned and his happiness and elation haven’t diminished. He is as eager as ever to get back home at the end of the day. He still has no social life or desire to leave Gary’s side. He’s afraid this can’t last, but for now, someone is waiting for him and the lights are on to welcome him home. 

He steps through the front door into a home that’s almost oppressively warm. A fine sheen of sweat breaks out on his forehead in what seems like only seconds since he stepped over the threshold. He shucks his coat off and eyes the thermostat in the hallway. It’s a least 10 degrees higher than comfortable. He experiences a brief pang of longing for the time only a few weeks ago when the heat wasn’t working and he had to put extra layers on.

Gary, however, still complains of the house being cold. They have settled into a routine of Jim turning the heat down on his way out every morning and arriving back every evening to find that it has been turned up in his absence. He mutters a quiet curse before quickly turning the heat down by 12 degrees. It’s so warm that he decides to take his Cadet’s uniform top off, leaving his undershirt on.

“Hey, I’m home,” he calls. There is no answer. A brief prickle of concern spikes in his chest, as the thought flashes through his mind that this is the day he has finally woken up from the dream. No, he reminds himself. The porch light was on.

Upon entering the living room, he stops short and gazes around uncomprehendingly. The furniture has been completely re-arranged. 

The only item still in place is the bright but threadbare rug that covers most of the floor space. It’s a cheerful red with a green vine and leaf pattern scrolling over it like calligraphy, the first item they brought together for the house. But everything else is not in its usual place.

The sagging sofa has been pushed away to the other side of the room. The mismatched throws and cushions are re-arranged on it. The small table is now against the opposite wall, away from the window where Jim likes to sit, with its view of the tree-lined street and the restless Pacific beyond.

“Gary!” he yells.

He can hear the other man enter the room behind him. 

“Gary, what did you do?”  


“I just changed a few things around. Call it a late spring cleaning.”

Jim’s eyes sweep the room, quickly taking inventory. “Where’s my starship?”

“I can put it back,” says Gary, placing a mug of coffee in Jim’s hand. 

“No…no it’s okay,” Jim responds, but he feels a little disgruntled. Couldn’t Gary have at least discussed this with him? He lives here too, after all.

“If you really don’t like it, I’ll put it all back,” Gary says, his tone conciliatory. “It’ll give me something to do tomorrow, to keep myself occupied. I have an eternity to kill after all.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just a bit surprised, that’s all,” Jim responds. He doesn’t feel like he can make a big deal of it, not when Gary has come back from beyond the grave just for him. It’s not every day of the week that people come back from death for the sake of their loved ones. Plus he knows that Gary can’t leave the house, so it can’t be any fun being stuck in all day with no company.

“Just put the starship back, okay?” he says instead.

“No problem.” Gary offers him a warm smile.

Jim returns the smile and takes a small sip of coffee to show Gary he appreciates the gesture, even though what he could really use is a cold beer. The house is so warm he actually feels a little light-headed.

“I’m cooking you dinner,” Gary says, looking entirely too pleased with himself. 

“What happened to the replicator?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to cook for you.”

Jim smiles, touched that Gary has gone to so much trouble.

“Come look,” Gary says proudly before heading out of the room.

Jim puts his mug of coffee down on the nearest surface and follows Gary into the kitchen, where the other man moves to the stove to stir a bubbling pan. 

The kitchen looks like a tornado blew through it. Cupboard doors and drawers are open, cooking utensils and pans are strewn indiscriminately over the countertops. Puddles of liquid and bits of vegetable are scattered randomly over the floor. Death hasn’t made Gary any tidier, Jim notes. He grimaces at the thought of clean-up later.

The windows are steamed over with condensation and the room is even hotter and more humid than the rest of the house. Jim can feel his hair wilt to lie damply on his forehead. His skin feels hot and flushed, and a trickle of sweat runs slowly down his back. 

He braces himself before moving towards the warmest part of the kitchen, where he stands next to Gary at the stove. A couple of pans bubble and simmer, steam curling like ribbons towards the ceiling. One of the pans contains what looks like meat in a tomato sauce, the other contains a clear liquid, and Jim can’t be sure whether this is stock or a base for a soup. He cautiously sniffs the air. The aromas are alluring, rich and enticing, and in response he feels his stomach rumble. Well, at least his appetite’s back.

A PADD lies on the work surface next to them. Jim bends closer to read the text. ‘Vulcan Cuisine for Beginners’ it reads. 

He looks sideways at Gary. First the Vulcan language lessons and now Vulcan food. “Since when were you ever interested in anything Vulcan?” 

“Since I have an eternity to try and occupy. I’m going to need a few hobbies.” He winks at Jim. “You know, it’s fascinating, really. The culture, the language, and the history, all of it. Vulcans are pretty private though, so it’s a pain in the ass finding any info.”  
He gives a quick glance at Jim. _“You’d _probably find it interesting.”__

“Uh-huh,” Jim mutters non-committedly. He sneaks a look at Gary as the other man is occupied with stirring the bubbling pot, and wonders what happened to the man he used to know. In many respects Gary seems the same as he always was. But he seems different too, changing the furniture around without consulting him, the excessively warm house, and the obsession with everything Vulcan. 

Jim shakes his head to dispel his thoughts, and turns his attention back to the food. 

“What’s cooking?”

“Beef lasagna.”

“That doesn’t sound very Vulcan,” Jim says, amused.

“Well, no,” Gary admits. “But that’s the main course. For the starter I’m making plomeek soup.”

Gary stops stirring the pan and turns to look at him with a hopeful expression. “Could you do me a favor, seeing as I’m stuck in the house? There’s a Vulcan Deli thing near the Vulcan Embassy. Could you pop out and get me some dried plomeek?”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.”

“But I just got in! Couldn’t you at least have commed me before I got home?” Jim asks. He only wants to spend the rest of the evening relaxing with Gary.

“Okay, sorry…yeah, I could have done that,” Gary admits, trying his best to look apologetic.

Jim knows that he’s going to cave in, but he tries to delay the inevitable. “That’s really weird, that you can come back from the dead, but you can’t leave the house.”

“Well there are a lot of rules and regulations I guess. It’s quite complicated actually.” He grimaces. “You wouldn’t believe the paperwork I had to fill in before I could return.”

“Paperwork?” Jim queries, his heart sinking. There’s paperwork even after you die. It’s official. The universe sucks. 

“In triplicate,” Gary says a crinkle of amusement around his eyes.

Jim catches the amusement and gives Gary a mock frown. “Quit messing with me. You nearly gave me an aneurism.”

“Sorry,” says Gary, who is clearly not sorry. 

“So are you going for the plomeek now?” Gary asks, slight frown replacing the smile. “You kind of have to go _right _now.”__

“What’s the rush?”

“It’s almost ready. I just need this last thing.” Gary pouts and tries to affect a pleading puppy dog expression. “It won’t take you long.” 

Jim’s just about to agree to go when Gary takes a step forward and moves into his personal space, his arms slipping around Jim’s neck. Jim presses his body up against Gary’s more tightly, wrapping his own arms around Gary’s waist in return. 

Jim feels a tickle of soft breath near his ear. The intimacy of the gesture sends a jolt of pleasure down his spine.

“There’s a reward,” Gary whispers in his ear.

Jim swallows. “What kind of reward?”

He feels Gary’s cheek move against his and then their lips touch, tentatively at first, but then deeper and stronger as the kiss lengthens. He can feel Gary’s hardness against him, and a rush of arousal washes through him. 

Finally, Gary pulls back a little to look at him. “That kind of a reward.”

“Hmm, well that’s certainly the kind of reward I like,” Jim says, his tone teasing. “But I’m not sure that it’s really sufficient.”

“That was just a taste,” Gary moves his face a little closer, so that they’re sharing breath. He drops his voice. “The reward will blow your mind.”

“Now you’re talking,” Jim grins and then moves his own mouth closer to Gary’s ear and whispers, “But I’m thinking you could blow something a little further south.” 

“Well I could, but it all depends on whether you go to get the plomeek,” Gary responds.

Jim groans and reluctantly pulls away from Gary. “Okay, I’m _definitely _going out to get your plomeek, or whatever the hell it’s called?” The quicker he can get the ingredient, the quicker he can get back, and the quicker he can claim that reward.__

“Great! I’ve already sent the directions for the deli to your PADD about ten minutes ago,” Gary says. 

****

The air has started to cool, as the sun dips lower in a fiery sky, casting long lines of dappled shade over the ground. Jim hunches his shoulders against the breeze, having become used to the warmth of the house. 

He quickly makes his way to the Embassy; fortunately, it’s not far from home. Once he’s standing across the street from the building, he pulls his personal PADD from his pocket to check the directions. 

After a few seconds perusal he stuffs the small device back into his pocket and crosses the street to head down the long side alley adjacent to the Embassy. 

He quickly finds the shop that he’s looking for, if the Vulcan script above the door is anything to go by. He enters to find himself in a small but light and clean space. The door softly clicks shut behind him. 

The first thing he notices are the various aromas wafting almost imperceptibly in the air, an intoxicating mixture of scents, at once spicy, smoky and dry with a note of citrus, blended with something alien and exotic.

It’s vaguely reminiscent of how Spock smells; a small part of his mind reminds him.

The store’s tiny, only a few short aisles stacked with jars and packets. The floor is laid in a rough tile. The ceiling is high and lost to the shadows beyond the tapering store lights which hang down on long thin flex. Also hanging down above the aisles are white wooden signs bordered in black upon which is scrolled on their surface, in both Vulcan and Standard, such words as ‘dry goods’, ‘vegetables’, and ‘herbs’.

He heads towards the vegetables sign, assuming it to be the most likely place to find the plomeek. He scans the metal racking. The numerous glass jars sparkle in the overhead lights with a dazzling array of colors. Some of them contain what looks like roots, their outlines gnarled and twisted as they float in thick translucent liquid. Little bundles of herbs are arranged beside the jars, each one secured with brown twine. He reads some of the labels. Birkeen, K’rhth’a, Hla’meth and Kh’aa. Striking sounds evocative of a planet he’s never visited.

He bends back to the task of locating what he came to buy. Just when he’s about to find a member of staff to ask where the plomeek is hiding, he spots it.

Not sure of how much Gary will need, he picks up a couple of small white packets and makes his way to the checkout. He quickly scans the items and then swipes his credit chip past the sensor. 

Suddenly he feels a presence at his shoulder, and for reasons he can’t place, and has no desire to interrogate, he’s aware of who it is before he even turns around. 

“Jim,” says a voice, the smooth baritone washing over him. 

“Spock?” He turns. “Uh…hey.”

“I did not expect to encounter you here.” Spock briefly glances down at the packets of dried Plomeek in Jim’s hand.

“Neither did I,” Jim mutters, mostly to himself.

Spock continues after a brief, confused-looking pause. “I am, however, gratified to find you here.” A small frown appears between his upswept brows. “I wish to make an apology for my comments during our previous conversation. It was inappropriate of me to raise the topic in the manner that I…”

But Jim cuts him off, not wanting to go over old ground again. “No harm done. I acted like an asshole, too. Let’s just forget it, alright?” He offers Spock a smile, because the guy is trying, and maybe this means his Maru plan can be salvaged.

“Nevertheless, it was not my intention to cause you…discomfort and for that I would like to extend my sincerest apologies. I should have chosen my words with more care.” 

If the small hesitations and tense tone are anything to go by, Jim thinks, Spock must be choosing his words very carefully right now. Jim does appreciate the effort, all plotting aside.

“Look, it’s really not a problem,” Jim says. After all, it’s not Spock’s fault that George Kirk died on the _Kelvin, _not his fault that Jim’s subsequent birthdays have been overshadowed by this event, that he has lived too long in his father’s shadow. It’s not Spock’s fault that Winona fled to live among the stars or that Sam left because he could no longer tolerate life with Frank. None of the fall-out is Spock’s responsibility.__

”We’re good.” He smiles again, hoping Spock understands. 

He feels a sudden desire to reach out and touch Spock’s arm in reassurance, to lend weight to his words with physical contact. Touch is instinctual to him, something as natural as breathing, but he doubts Spock will appreciate the gesture. So with an effort he forces his hand to drop to his side, where he clenches it into a fist. 

However, Jim’s words appear to have had the desired effect, and Spock gives a small tilt of his head in comprehension, and there’s a slight but noticeable relaxation in his shoulders.

The Vulcan’s gaze drops back down to the small packets cradled in Jim’s other hand. “Dried plomeek?” Spock raises an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, for soup.”

“I did not realise that you harbored an interest in Vulcan cuisine. In my experience humans tend to find it an acquired taste.”

Jim grins and attempts to wave it off. He can’t exactly blame his dead boyfriend for the weird grocery choice, so he says, “Well, I always say you should try everything once.”

“A most curious statement,” Spock says quietly. “Surely it is neither possible nor wise to try _‘everything once’. _”__

“You mean like jumping off a cliff without rocket boots or a parachute?” Jim says, laughter bubbling up.

“That would indeed…qualify,” Spock says cautiously, a line appearing between his brows. 

“What about in a car?” Jim says.

Spock’s eyebrows fly up towards his bangs with startling alacrity.

“Am I to understand you leapt off a cliff in a…automobile?” Spock says cautiously, looking at Jim as though he were standing on his head in the middle of the store.

“Maybe I’ll tell you about it someday,” Jim says warmly.

“I would be interested to hear the story.” Spock hesitates for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. Jim could almost think he was nervous, but he dismisses that thought immediately. 

“There is a small coffee establishment a short distance from here. Would you care to accompany me there?”

“Wait, now?” Jim is taken aback.

“If you are not otherwise engaged.”

“Sorry, Spock, I’ll have to take a rain check.” He has to deliver the plomeek to Gary, or he’ll never hear the end of it, or get his reward.

A small part of him regrets turning Spock’s offer down, though. It would have been an ideal opening to gain further intelligence on the Maru upgrades. But maybe playing it mysterious is a better strategy in the long run. Make Spock chase him instead of the other way round.

“Another time maybe?” Jim asks, testing the waters. 

“Indeed, another time. I shall look forward to it.”

Jim thinks it’s his imagination, but Spock seems a little disappointed. 

****

Jim looks down at the bowl of soup in front of him. It’s bright orange. Very bright orange. Jim is sure that if he turned the lights down it would glow in the dark. He eats a cautious spoonful. 

He wonders how Gary did it. How he made such a brilliantly fluorescent soup that tastes like nothing. It’s beyond bland, the complete opposite of its appearance. 

He’s aware that Gary is watching him, awaiting his verdict. 

“Hmmm.” He risks a quick glance up at Gary from the corner of his eye, and forces a smile. Actions speak louder than words, so he takes another shallow spoonful. He’s keen to finish the meal and move onto other things. He’s on a promise, and Gary does have a very talented tongue. 

Gary looks unconvinced by Jim’s vapor-thin show of enthusiasm, but laughter lights his eyes. He takes a mouthful himself and immediately his amusement is replaced by a frown, his lips forming a tight thin line. 

“Maybe it’s an acquired taste.” Gary frowns down into his bowl. 

“At least it’s edible,” Jim says, trying to show Gary that it’s not a total loss. But he’s glad that Gary’s words have let him off the hook. With an internal sigh of relief, he leaves the table to get some pepper from the war zone that was formerly the kitchen. 

They eat as much of the soup as they can bear in companionable silence for the most part. It’s almost like Gary never left. They are relaxed in each other’s company, and Jim feels happy and at peace. 

“How’s Len?”

The question, out of the blue, throws him.

_He sits in the crematorium, trying to keep his eyes averted from the focal point of the room: the oak casket with its spray of cream flowers shrouding the top, wispy strands of greenery trickling down the sides. He is aware of the other mourners, but only hazily. They drift like ghostly shadows around him, on the periphery of his awareness. He is, however, acutely aware of Bones’ presence. They sit together, in silence, Bones’ body pressed up next to him, from shoulder to thigh. The warmth of him feels like a silent promise._

“…Earth to James Kirk.” He jumps back into his skin with a start, giving his head a tiny shake to dislodge the unwelcome memory.

He focuses to find Gary snapping his fingers before his eyes, amusement on his face.

“Sorry,” Jim says sheepishly.

“You okay?” Gary says his voice tinged with concern.

“Yeah, sure.” Jim smiles, and remembers that he still has to respond to Gary’s question.

“Bones is fine, never better.” He doesn’t add that it’s been over a week since he spoke or set eyes on his friend. 

Gary doesn’t look convinced, but lets the matter drop.

But shame burns through Jim, bright and hot. He’s been a poor friend to Bones, who deserves better. He’s also made a really dumb strategic mistake. It was such a bad idea to avoid Bones, and all because in the immediate aftermath of Gary’s return he had no response to his friend’s sharp scrutiny. 

The words he spoke to Spock come back to taunt him. _‘I’m pretty good at tactics and strategy too’ _he’d bragged. Yeah right, thinks Jim bitterly, so good he’s just made such an elementary, dumb mistake.__

Tomorrow, he promises himself, he’ll find Bones and make it right with him.


	12. Chapter Eleven

Friday afternoon is beginning to wane into evening. A large part of Jim’s day has been spent trying and failing to locate Bones, but now he has a free study period, and he is in the library, having decided to do a little research project.

He is attempting to download everything he can find about the Vulcan race. Frustratingly, Gary is correct, there’s not much useful information. Most of it concerns first contact and that’s told mainly from the Human perspective, which is fascinating, but not very useful when you’re looking for knowledge of actual Vulcans and their culture. Why do they have to be so damn secretive? He idly wonders if he can get away with hacking the VSA computer system or at the very least the Embassy one. Probably not my best idea, he thinks ruefully. Sparking a diplomatic incident isn’t going to aid his career in Starfleet.

He could of course ask Gary, but he’s strangely reluctant to do so. He tells himself that he’s always preferred doing his own research, finding it more rewarding to get his own answers to questions.

It doesn’t help that not all of his concentration is on the task at hand. Half his mind is spent absorbing the Vulcan information, the other half is formulating a strategy for dealing with Bones’ predictable ire and his inevitable questions when he finally tracks him down. He knows he can’t reveal the truth. He winces at the knowledge that he’s already told Bones far too much, as he recalls his drunken confession that Gary speaks to him. But he doesn’t want to lie either, so he decides the best way to go is to use humor and distraction, as much of it as he can get away with.

He checks his messages again and is disappointed, but no longer surprised, that there’s no reply from Bones. He gives a small groan of frustration. He has lost track of Bones’ schedule over the last week or so, so of course, he’d hacked the student timetable to look at his friend’s diary. But Bones was not where he was supposed to be. He’s beginning to come to the reluctant conclusion that the other man may be avoiding him, which he has to admit would serve him right. 

Deciding to abandon his current fruitless effort, he tucks his PADD away and leaves the library, frustration skittering under his skin like an itch he can’t scratch.

He slips outside to a warm and sunny late spring evening. The grey early mist having lifted by mid-morning to reveal a day luminously clear and fresh, a slight tang of salt carried from the ocean on the balmy breeze.

However, Jim’s attention is concentrated on trying to spot Bones amongst the press of cadets making their way over the concourse. A task not made any easier by the tall glass buildings that rise up on all sides, giving the impression of being at the bottom of a crystal well. It has the effect of packing the cadets tighter together and Jim is frequently jostled as students brush against him. 

He’s not going to find Bones here. He realizes his best bet is either the clinic or Bones’ dorm room. He decides to head to the clinic first. 

He quickly falls into step behind a small group of loudly chattering cadets and follows them out onto the main thoroughfare. 

Once on the main walkway he heads towards his destination. The campus here is more open. Wide paths crisscross each other, and squeezed in-between are neatly edged lawns like little green handkerchiefs, each sporting a few neatly clipped shrubs and small trees. To his left the academy buildings, bathed in a honeyed glow, cast long thin shadows. 

To his right the bright azure of the bay shimmers like spun silk, smooth and calm with the sun glinting off the surface, the dying rays of light lending it a golden tint. A few hover boats skim low over the water, while a pair of more ancient sea-faring vehicles bob gently on it flat surface, their pristine white sails billowing in the gentle breeze.

Turning his attention back to the task at hand he spots two cadets he immediately recognizes ahead of him, and he feels his mood lighten as he jogs to catch them up.

“Well, hello ladies,” he says, easing his body carefully between them.

Gaila giggles and inches her body closer to his, slipping her right arm around his waist. He drops his arm over her shoulder. Uhura just rolls her eyes. 

“How are my two favorite cadets today?” 

“Just perfect now that you’re here,” Gaila answers, looking up at him with a huge smile. “It’s great to see you again. You’ve been hiding yourself away.” 

He feels his mood drop a little, but keeps his grin in place. This is not the way he wanted the conversation to go. He doesn’t want any reference to his self-imposed isolation. So he lets his grin grow into a smirk and looking Gaila in the eye drops his voice a few octaves, letting just a hint of flirt slip into his attitude. “Well, I’m not hiding now, eh?”

“No, you’re certainly not,” she says, pressing her body a little closer to his side. 

“Gaila, you’ll have to go this minute or you’ll be late,” Uhura says, cutting in on their conversation.

Gaila’s smile immediately turns into a pout. She looks back up at Jim as she addresses her next words to him. “Unfortunately, I have to leave or I’ll be late for my next class.” 

“Next class? Aren’t you finished for the day?” he asks, confused.

“No, I stupidly volunteered for another evening class. It’s worth extra accreditation, which right now I could really do with.” 

“But I would have thought you’d get loads of extra accreditation just from working on the Maru.” He figures it doesn’t hurt, after all if it was meant to be a secret Spock wouldn’t have mentioned it.

“Yeah, of course I do.” Her smile widens and her eyes sweep slowly down his body and back up again. “But every little extra helps, right?” She bites her lip and locks her gaze with his.

“Sure does,” he drawls, gaze flickering to her lips and back again.

“Oh please, someone just kill me now,” Uhura groans.

Gaila reluctantly pulls away from him and turns to Uhura. “See you later okay?” 

Uhura steps forward and they share a brief hug and fond farewells, before Gaila turns back to Jim, her smile turning more seductive. “See you around, Jim.”

“Yeah, catch you later.” 

His view of a retreating Gaila is abruptly cut off as Uhura steps in front of him. “And how’s my favorite dumb hick?” she asks.

“Great thanks, and all the better for seeing you.” He gives her his best smirk, expecting her to bat it back, relishing the opportunity to restart their usual banter, as he realizes how much he’s missed it.

But she does not react as he expected. Instead she turns contemplative as her eyes sweep him from head to foot, appraising him frankly. “You’re looking a lot better. How are you feeling?”

He lets his smirk fall to be replaced by a tight smile. He’s beginning to wish he’d never approached them now. He’d much rather have the banter, would rather fend away her sharp barbs. But he realizes that he’d better move with the flow. “I’m fine.”

“People have been worried about you, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” He lets his smile grow to something more genuine, touched by her concern. “I’m a lot better, thanks.”

She nods her head, seemingly in approval at his sober response. She stands there quietly chewing her bottom lip, arms folded across her chest, and it looks to Jim likes she’s involved in some kind of internal debate. He waits patiently.

Quickly she steps forward, surprising him. She places a hand on each shoulder and reaches up to place a quick chaste kiss to his cheek. He can feel her smooth skin brush his, catches the aroma of something sweet and fruity that’s reminiscent of fizzy soda, wafting gently in a cloud around them. 

She leans in a bit closer, her breath tickling his ear as she whispers, “Welcome back, Kirk.” 

To Jim, the air around them suddenly feels heavy with emotion and he has the urge to quip, “I didn’t know I’d been away,” to lighten the moment, the words on the tip of his tongue. But he swallows them back down before he can utter them, when he feels her arms slip around his neck and she embraces him in a brief but gentle hug. With that she turns on her heel and marches away, her ebony pony tail swinging down her back, in perfect rhythm with the sway of her hips. 

He quietly watches as she walks away with long confident strides, her head held high. Her actions have caused his mood to grow somber, but he finds himself warmed by her words.

His reverie is broken when he can sense that someone has approached from his left to stand beside him and he knows without looking that it’s Bones. He casts a furtive glance sideways to study his friend, as he tries to determine the other man’s mood. But Bones’ attention is on the departing Uhura, and Jim finds himself surreptitiously watching his friend watch Uhura. Hmm interesting, is it possible Bones holds some interest in the communications cadet? Not surprising, Jim thinks, any man with a pulse would.

But Uhura is now nearly out of sight and Jim braces himself for what he knows is coming next. He mentally counts down 5…4…3…2…

Bones explodes beside him. “…And where the hell have you been?” He moves into Jim’s personal space, bringing his face closer, his eyes narrowed. “If I was a more cynical person, I’d think you’ve been trying to avoid me.”

“You more cynical, Bones?” Jim tries to feign innocence, eyes widening slightly. “Perish the thought!”

“What the hell is going on?” Bones demands, apparently determined not to be side-tracked. “Come on, let’s have an explanation.”

“An explanation…for what?” 

He knows exactly what explanation Bones is looking for, but decides now’s the time to play the dumb hick Uhura seems to think he is.

Bones sighs, but his expression softens as he continues speaking. “For your sudden mood change, that’s what. Just a week ago you were grieving and in despair.” Concern appears on his face. “I get that, it’s natural, but then you go sick,” a scowl replaces the concern, _“and by the way you don’t return any of my calls _and then when you do get back you’re full of the joys of spring.”__

“Look Bones, I’m sorry for not getting in touch with you, for not replying to your messages, I really am.” Having got the apology out of the way, which was necessary, he moves on quickly before Bones can ask why he didn’t return his calls. “But aren’t you pleased that I’m happy again? I can’t grieve forever!” 

Despite the fact Jim’s aware of who’s really in the wrong here, he can’t seem to stop the slight defensiveness that rises up at Bones’ words. 

“No of course you can’t, kid,” Bones placates. “I want you to be happy again, you know that. It’s just that it’s a complete 180 degree turn. Only a few weeks ago you were telling me that Gary was talking to you…”

“You shouldn’t listen to me when I’m drunk Bones. You know that,” Jim cuts in, trying to keep his voice light. 

Bones carries on, ignoring Jim’s interruption, barely drawing breath. “Now suddenly you’re grinning like the cat that’s got the cream and bounding around campus like Bambi on acid.” He gives a shudder. “At one point I even thought you were going to break out in a song and dance routine in the mess.” 

Jim looks at Bones askance as he wonders if the other man has lost his mind. “What’re you on, Bones? You been slipping yourself meds again from the Academy clinic?” 

Bones ignores his attempt at levity. “You’ve been avoiding me all week and now it’s Friday and…”

“Damn, is it Friday already?”

The scowl darkens. “So I’m not getting an explanation then?”

“It’s a real tricky one Bones,” Jim edges.

“Had a feeling it might be.”

Bones turns away and starts walking, and Jim automatically falls in step beside him. But after only a few yards, Bones stops abruptly, turning again to face him. “Stop holding out on me, kid. What’s going on here? Where the hell have you been?”

“Would you believe studying?”

“Studying my ass!” 

“Oh, I don’t know, you have a great ass Bones. It’d certainly be worth studying.” Jim grins with a waggle of his eyebrows for added emphasis.

“Don’t change the subject.” Bones glares at him, arms crossed, and Jim realizes with a sinking sensation that this is not going to be as easy as he’d hoped.

It’s time for more desperate measures now, and so like a drowning man clinging desperately to the last life raft, Jim plays his final hand. “You know, if you’re interested in Uhura, you should ask her for a date. She won’t give me the time of day, but I reckon you’ve got a chance.”

“What!” Bones looks at him incredulously. “Where did this come from? What makes you think I like her that way?” He stalks away along the path again. “I’m done with dating anyway. It generally leads to things getting serious, which in turn leads to marriage, which only leads to bitterness, disappointment, and expensive divorce lawyers.”

Bones suddenly stops and turns on him, pointing a finger in his face. “And don’t think I don’t know you’re trying to distract me now. I’ve got news for you: that only works on two year old kids.” 

Jim grins at him. Bones just glares at him in return, before giving a resigned shake of his head and setting off down the main thoroughfare again. Jim matches his pace and moves with him, towards Bones’ dorm room by the looks of things. He’s happy for the time being to just follow his friends lead, but he doesn’t fool himself that Bones is going to let this drop just yet.

He looks back out over the bay. The little sail boats are still gently bobbing on the water as they make their way steadily across the bay. Soon they’ll disappear under the bridge. It’d be great to be out there on the ocean, Jim thinks, captaining one of those little boats. 

No, the sea is too calm. He knows that he’d eventually become bored, the monotony producing an itch that he’d have to scratch. It lacks something. He grins to himself as the image changes in his head. The sea no longer placid as huge steel grey waves crash over the small boat, drenching its deck and pitching it violently up before slamming it back down. That’s more like it, Jim Kirk taking on the universe and winning. Or even better still, getting himself one of those little hover-gliding craft and swooping over the bay as fast as he can go, leaping heavenwards and then spiraling down towards the ocean before pulling level at the last minute. What an adrenaline rush that would be….

“There you go again, grinning like a loon for no goddamn reason,” Bones grouses, breaking in on his thoughts. 

Jim laughs, which only earns him a jaundiced look.

“I’m fine Bones, still perfectly sane. There’s no need for you to strap me to a bio-bed and hypo me into oblivion.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Bones retorts.

They turn left in unison off the main path and towards the dorm buildings sitting red-bricked and squat on the top of a small hill. 

He looks at Bones from the corner of his eye. He seems to be contemplating something, and Jim can almost see the light bulb flare to life above Bones’ head, before his friend stops and turns to him.

“Has this anything to do with that hobgoblin you’ve suddenly started hanging out with?” Bones asks a speculative tone in his voice and Jim thinks a slightly hurt look in his eyes, before the shadow passes as quickly as it appeared.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you suddenly start hanging out with the pointy-eared bastard and now you’re going round smiling and winking at everyone.”

“No, of course it doesn’t have anything to do with Spock. Are you crazy? You know that Pike forced me to work with him on this ‘visit the local colleges and schools’ crap. And a couple of school visits and bumping into him in a store is hardly ‘hanging out’.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, course I’m sure. Spock’s got nothing to do with it.”

“What does have something to do with it, then?”

Damn, but Bones is like a dog with a bone. The only problem is that Jim doesn’t really have much left in the way of obfuscation, so he lamely offers, “Bones, there’s really nothing to see here. I’m fine, really.” 

Bones sighs and carries on walking along the path, which is now gently ascending up a small incline, Jim alongside him.

“Whatever did I do to end up with you?” he hears Bones mutter. “Nothing but a goddamn pain in the ass.”

“You barfed on me, remember?”

“Don’t remind me!” Bones snaps. “I’m trying to blank that whole sorry episode from my mind.”

“But that ‘whole sorry episode’ is where you first met me,” Jim says, feigning surprise with a little hurt thrown in.

“Like I said, don’t remind me,” McCoy retorts.

“Bones, don’t lie, I know you love me,” Jim says with a grin.

“I do not, goddamnit.”

“I mean as a friend, obviously.”

“No!”

“Bones. You liar!”

“I do not!”

Jim laughs.

He decides to offer something, it’s the least Bones deserves. He grabs hold of Bones’ arm in a sign of obeisance and stops his forward motion, turning the other man round to face him. “Look Bones, there’s really no need for you to worry about me. I just…feel that I’ve got over the worst of it, that’s all. I think I can finally see that there’s some light at the end of the tunnel.” 

He offers Bones a small smile. “It’s high time I started to live for the future and not in the past, right? All that good advice you’ve been giving me, it seems to be making sense at last.” He gives Bones his biggest grin. “See, I do listen to you sometimes.” 

“You’d listen to me more often, if you had any sense,” a beat, “which you haven’t.”

McCoy takes a step closer to Jim, scrutinizing him closely as though trying to weigh the truth of Jim’s words. Jim holds his breath and offers a genuine smile while bearing the examination. 

Finally Bones says, “That’s good to hear, kid. You should start living again.” He looks Jim in the eye and adds, “A man either lives life as it happens to him, meets it head on and licks it, or he turns his back on it and starts to wither away.”

“Now you’re beginning to talk like a doctor.”

“I am a doctor, moron!” Bones retorts.

“So you are,” says Jim with a mock grimace. 

An idea begins to form in his head. He’s sure he still has a few articles of casual clothing stored in Bones’ dorm room, unless Bones has seen fit to throw them out. If the clothes pass the smell test, then they could both go and change and get ready to go out for the evening. Plus while Bones is occupied in the shower, he can send a discrete comm to Gary to let him know that he’ll be a little late and not to worry. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.

He’s reluctant to speak his idea aloud. He wants to go home to Gary, it’s only been just over a week since he returned and Jim is still wrapped up in the wonder and newness of it, but he also knows that he owes Bones. Besides, he’s missed Bones too, so before he can change his mind, he takes the plunge and lets the idea slip out. “Hey, it’s Friday, right. What the hell are we doing here? Let’s go and grab a few drinks. Shoot the breeze, what do you say?”

He can see Bones quickly switch mental gears as he considers the proposals merits. Jim feels hope that he can at last steer Bones away from a subject he doesn’t want to discuss. He decides to push a little more, to close the deal.

“C’mon Bones, it’s a great idea.”

“You’re right, that actually is a good idea.” Bones stares over Jim’s shoulder lost in thought. His gaze slips slowly back to Jim’s. “Unlike your usual brainwaves.” 

“What? I have brilliant ideas.”

“Moronic ideas like the Maru one you mean?” He scowls. “Now there’s a disaster just waiting to happen.”

“That’s an awesome idea.”

“Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that. Sometimes I wonder if Winona dropped you on your head when you were a baby. It would sure explain a lot.”

Bones then mutters something under his breath which sounds suspiciously like the word ‘deluded’. Jim frowns.

“Oh and by the way, all you had to do was give an apology and say that you don’t want to discuss it…whatever it is that you don’t want to discuss. That would have been fine, I would have accepted it no problem.” Bones glares at him with an expression as black as thunder. “There was no need for the rest of the goddamn bullshit I’ve just had to endure.” With that he turns on his heel and stalks away. 

Jim stares after him, mouth open. 

Bones half turns and calls over his shoulder. “Don’t just stand there wool gathering! I thought you wanted to go out.”

Jim grins and runs to catch up with his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the filler chapter (hope it wasn't too bad - also hope the humour doesn't detract from a fic that's actually meant to have some angst in). Next week's chapter will move the plot forward a little, I promise.


	13. Chapter Twelve

It’s early June and officially summer, not that this is immediately apparent from the current conditions. Having already spent two summers in San Francisco, Jim knows what to expect and he is not surprised that today the city is shrouded in thick fog. He knows that as the temperatures start to climb, heat and geography conspire to pull moisture into the city from the ocean, sometimes resulting in fog so dense that the sun never breaks through it. Today is no exception. 

In fact, it’s a dismal day. The mist hangs over the grizzled and subdued city like a dank dreary blanket, causing both land and sky to dissolve into shades of sullen gray. Buildings suddenly loom like dark hulking shadows through the haze, indistinct and sinister in the gloom. The monochrome landscape is occasionally broken by flashes of color as hover-cars zoom past and pedestrians briefly emerge from the mist before they fade again as they pass him by. The air is cool and damp on Jim’s skin, which actually comes as a bit of relief. 

He reaches the little Vulcan store, and stands just outside the door in the golden halo of light thrown over the sidewalk from the windows. He’s been ‘persuaded’ to run another errand, this time to buy Vulcan spiced tea. It’s Saturday afternoon and he’d been planning on spending time with Gary, either going to bed very early or failing that preferred fun option, relaxing in front of the holo-vid with a few good movies and some popcorn, maybe even the odd beer, before classes start again. But clearly Gary has other ideas. He’ll be glad when Gary’s obsession with everything Vulcan wanes.

He frowns at the sign showing that the store is open for a further six hours. As he studies it, Jim can feel a flutter of irritation stir, prickling under his skin.

Gary must have been mistaken in his insistence that the trip could not possibly be delayed by _even _a minute. So persistent had Gary been that he’d all but pushed Jim out the door, with a “no need to hurry back,” for good measure, whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. If Jim is honest with himself, the instruction had stung more than a little. Gary has been acting a little odd lately - well to be honest, ever since he came back - and clearly some ground rules need to be laid.__

Pushing it to the back of his mind for later, Jim shrugs and enters the store, and immediately steps into a vibrantly colorful world. Swirls of mist follow him inside before he shuts the door firmly behind him, locking out the cheerless scene.

Even though this is only his second visit, he feels relaxed and comfortable. The store has a welcoming feel, from the subdued lighting and the brightly colored produce behind glimmering glass jars, to the subtle aroma of herbs and spices. It’s quiet and peaceful. He looks around; there are only a few others in the store, all Vulcans as far as Jim can see. 

He makes his way to where he is sure he spotted the tea the last time he visited. He’s right; there it is on the shelf in front of him. He picks up just one small packet, no need to make the same mistake as last time, only to see much of it wasted.

As Jim turns towards the checkout his gaze wanders down the aisle to where a man stands, hands clasped behind his back as he peruses the labels on the packets in front of him. He has his back to Jim, but he seems familiar. Jim studies him a moment. A thick warm dark coat is wrapped snugly around his lean body and a black woolen hat is pulled down tightly over his head. The man turns his head slightly and Jim knows that profile. 

Strange that they’re both here again at the same time, what are the odds of that? But he dismisses the thought immediately. The store caters for Vulcan cuisine, so of course Spock will shop here regularly, right? 

But what a stroke of luck that he’s here. It gives him another chance at his Maru plan. It must be fate.

Feeling oddly light-hearted he walks down the aisle towards the Vulcan.

“Hey, Spock,” he says.

“Jim,” Spock responds, hesitating only fractionally before turning to meet him. 

Jim smiles at him. “We gotta stop meeting like this, folks will start a rumor.” 

To Jim’s delight a small frown immediately takes up residence across Spock’s brow. “To which ‘folks’ and to what ‘rumor’ do you refer?”

“By folks I mean anyone who knows us who spots us of course, and by rumor I mean an inappropriate one,” he says, giving Spock a quick shallow wink.

Spock looks even more confused, the frown becoming slightly more pronounced and his lips pursing together. “Why would people start an inappropriate rumor about us? We have already worked together for the past 2.2 weeks to complete the community project that Captain Pike assigned us and over that time I have failed to discern any rumor….”

“Yeah, but that was work related. I mean bumping into each other socially like this.”

“I still fail to understand why…”

“Relax Spock. It’s just a lame joke that’s all,” Jim says, deciding to abandon the effort. “A very lame joke,” he adds with an apologetic shrug of his shoulders.

“I see,” Spock says, evidently not seeing at all, if his expression is anything to go by.

“Just ignore me. I’m one of those crazy illogical Humans you hear about.”

“Indeed. I had already surmised as much over the previous few weeks of our acquaintance.” 

Jim does a double take. “That a little humor there, Spock? Did you just crack a joke?”

“Negative. Vulcans do not ‘crack’ jokes.”

“You better be careful, you’ll be shattering people’s illusions of Vulcans.”

“And which illusions are those?” Spock queries, an eyebrow shooting up towards his bangs. 

Judgmental and arrogant springs to mind, quickly followed by the expression ‘know it all’. Fortunately, Jim doesn’t say this aloud. Instead he waves a hand around vaguely in the air and says. “Well, you know, intelligent, but kinda stuffy and lacking a sense of humor.” He feels his cheeks heat slightly. But Spock doesn’t appear to take offence. In fact, Jim thinks, he can sense amusement shimmering beneath, just below the surface. He isn’t sure how he knows this. It’s hard to tell for sure, but he thinks it likely.

“Are we not then viewed as the merrymaking jesters of the universe?”

Jim can feel his grin widen. “No, afraid not. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you did just call me crazy and illogical.” 

“I believe that is how you referred to yourself,” Spock corrects.

“Yeah, but you didn’t disagree,” Jim points out.

Spock’s expression is now definitely amused, lips quirking and an eyebrow rising. He drops his gaze to the packet of tea in Jim’s hand before flicking his eyes quickly back up to Jim’s face. “How did you find your plomeek soup?”

“Changing the subject now, eh? Well put it this way, by the end mine was more pepper than plomeek,” Jim says, giving a self-depreciating grin.

“Humans do seem to find the taste rather bland.”

Understatement of the year, thinks Jim.

A brief silence blooms between them before Jim remembers the tea. He clears his throat and raises the packet, waving it slightly in the air as he says. “Guess I better go pay for this.”

Spock merely tilts his head in acquiescence. 

Jim, however, does not immediately make a move toward the checkout as his quick brain is already pondering how he can steer the conversation so that Spock will re-invite him for that drink. He can only hope that his previous rejection hasn’t killed the offer dead in the water. He’s still irked with Gary, so Jim considers it pay-back to take him at his word, and not hurry back. 

He decides to throw a line and see if Spock bites. “We made a good team didn’t we? It’s a shame that the project’s finished.”

“I was under the impression that your view of it was rather skeptical, considering it no more than a recruitment drive.”

“Yeah, well maybe, in the beginning,” Jim says, his grin turning rueful. “But I think it ended up more than that, and the students really seemed to gain something positive from it.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Anyway, like I said a shame to break up a good team.”

“I concur.” Spock drops his gaze to his feet, hands clasped behind his back. There’s a brief second of hesitation, before he speaks again. “However, there may be no immediate need to end our association.” He looks back up to make eye contact with Jim. “I believe you still owe me a _‘rain-check’.” ___

Jim gives an internal cheer. That didn’t take nearly as much work as he thought it would. “I believe I do.” He smiles up at Spock with what he hopes is his warmest smile. “How about now, if it’s not a bad time?”

“Now would be perfectly acceptable.”

“A little bird told me that there’s a café not too far from here,” Jim says his grin widening.

“I was unaware that Humans were able to converse with Avians.” Spock says, lips twitching at the corners. 

Jim laughs. “Yeah, it’s one of our many hidden talents.”

****

As they walk to the café in comfortable silence, Spock leading the way, Jim marshals his thoughts. He resolves not to mention the Maru, no need to raise suspicions. It’ll be just two potential friends sharing a drink together socially, a chance to get to know each other better. Raising the topic at this stage would be a huge tactical mistake. He remembers the last time they discussed it and even though he’s run the conversation through his mind since, he still can’t pinpoint the moment it went wrong.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as Spock stops outside what is obviously their destination. 

The door of the cafe is flanked by wide tall windows, frosted glass on the bottom half, clear glass on the top. On a sunny day they no doubt let in a lot of light, shame it isn’t a sunny day. The surrounding paintwork is a pale sage green. On either side of the door sit burnished copper pots containing plants with tall spiky purple-red leaves. He looks up to where the name is etched in the glass panel above the door. The Coffee Garden, he reads. The café certainly looks inviting, the windows steamy, the light from within shimmering through the frosted panes. 

They step inside, out of the gloom of a misty afternoon and into the welcoming warmth, and Jim quickly takes a seat at a table to his left just inside the door. 

He slips his jacket off so that it lies over the back of his chair, having first stuffed the packet of tea into a pocket.

He can smell garlic and spices and something peppery mixed with the rich, aromatic fragrance of roast coffee. 

Inside, the café stretches back longer than it is wide. Wooden floorboards lend a slightly bucolic look, while the pale painted ceiling is studded with spotlights. The walls are buttermilk and terracotta with the odd fat stripe of exposed red-brick. From where Jim sits with his back to the window he can see an open staircase leading to a mezzanine level. 

The tables are honey colored marble; either round or square. The seats are raffia matting. Black chalk board menus and art deco prints dot the walls sporadically.

Further back still a small step leads to more tables. On the right the checkout stands, where an array of frosted cakes sit behind glass cabinets. On the counter a vase of bright yellow sunflowers cluster and beyond, the old-fashioned coffee machine bubbles and hisses. 

However, other than a small posy of flowers on each table and the plants outside the door he sees no indication of how the café got its name. “Why is it called the Coffee Garden?” 

Spock is busy folding his coat neatly over the back of his chair. “I believe there is a garden area at the rear of the establishment where patrons can eat and drink when the weather is less,” his eyes dart sideways to the window, “inclement.” 

Jim can see no obvious flicker of expression on Spock’s face, but he senses distaste. “Yeah, I bet you miss the weather back home. Must be freezing here in comparison.”

“I certainly miss the heat of Vulcan,” Spock says, taking his seat. “Though actually I preferred dusk, when the heat of the day would lessen. The evenings are often quite pleasant, before the chill of a Vulcan night arrives.” Spock pauses momentarily, before looking back to Jim. “It is not so much the cooler temperatures that are the main discomfort, but rather the higher precipitation and greater humidity of Earth. Vulcan’s heat is much drier. There is really no comparison to the dry heat of Vulcan on Earth, at least not on the West Coast.”

“I bet I know where it’s hotter and drier than Vulcan,” Jim mumbles.

“I beg your pardon. I did not quite catch that.”

“Uh…Nothing, never mind. Just thinking out loud.”

Spock looks at him curiously, head tilted slightly to one side. 

Embarrassed, Jim turns away from the scrutiny and picks up the menu. He notes that the café offers a large choice of light meals and snacks, ranging from sandwiches and salads to burgers and fries. There’s a bewildering selection of teas and coffees. At least a quarter of the menu consists of vegetarian dishes, their inclusion doubtless due to the café’s proximity to the Vulcan Embassy.

A waitress approaches. She is wearing a neat black and white uniform and her auburn hair is tied back in a tight pony tail. Her large slate grey eyes are shadowed by long dark lashes. Her name badge says Alice. She smiles at Spock, but reserves her biggest smile for Jim. He smiles back. She starts listing off the day’s specials, all the while trying to maintain eye contact with him.

Automatically, out of habit, his eyes drift down her body, and then slowly back up again. Her uniform fits perfectly in all the right places. Her smile widens.

He orders a black coffee and Spock orders tea. 

A draft of cool air brushes against Jim’s skin as a customer leaves the café.

"Can I get you anything else?" the waitress asks, still smiling warmly at Jim.

“No,” Spock responds rather curtly. Her smile falters, and her gaze flicks between them, before she nods and moves off to get their order.

Jim turns his attention back to Spock to see him sitting stiffly in his seat. The Vulcan’s mouth is set in a thin tight line, his posture perfect, but rigid. Jim can read none of Spock’s thoughts, and he often struggles to read Spock’s body language and expressions. But his instincts tell him that Spock has closed off, and Jim has learnt to trusts his instincts. Something has changed and made Spock withdraw. Confusion and concern flood through him. Everything was going so well too. His mind races as he tries to pinpoint what has upset the Vulcan.

A customer enters the café and another slight draft wafts against Jim’s skin, before the door clicks shut. As the little hairs rise in bumps along Jim’s arm in response, Jim wonders if he has the answer to Spock’s displeasure. He doesn’t want to make assumptions or jump to conclusions, but he can’t think what else could have happened. He mentally kicks himself for not being considerate enough to think of this earlier. 

“Sorry Spock, I should have thought to sit further away from the door. We can move further back. I think there are a few seats still spare.”

“Negative. Our present location is perfectly acceptable.”

The waitress returns with their drinks, but Jim barely spares her a glance, as concerned as he is with Spock. He mutters a word of thanks to her before turning his attention once again to the Vulcan. He has to rescue the situation if possible.

“Are you sure? It’s not a problem for me. I grew up with Iowan winters, but...”

“Jim, I assure you I am perfectly content with our current seating arrangements.”

Jim looks at him dubiously, but Spock already appears a little more relaxed again, tension seeping away from rigid muscles, shoulders slackening slightly, so Jim lets the matter drop. 

“So, Earth’s not as dry as you’d prefer, and yet you like the ocean,” he says, thinking back to their first meeting.

Spock lips twitch minutely. “Affirmative. I recall my first view of Earth from space as a young child. I was immediately struck by how blue the planet appeared in contrast to my home planetary system. Mother noticed my interest, and on our second day in this city, she took me to the beach for a picnic while father was at a conference.”

“So, what did you think?”

“I must admit, there was a moment of visceral alarm upon first seeing it. I had never seen such a large expanse of water before, nor indeed any body of water so animate, that created such noise. The aroma was unexpected too.”

“Yeah, I love that first whiff of ozone as you approach the ocean."

An eyebrow flares. “Indeed. However, after my initial…apprehension, I came to find the experience fascinating.”

“Yeah, it is kinda awesome when you see the ocean for the first time.” Jim says, enthusiastically. “It’s like a gateway to a whole new world. Just think of all the places and possibilities that lie over the horizon, beyond that body of water, waiting to be discovered. It’s not the end of the line; it’s the beginning of the unknown, like space.”

Spock casts Jim a considering glance over his raised cup of tea. He takes a sip before carefully returning the cup to its saucer, and turns to quietly regard Jim with an expression that makes Jim feel a little like a particularly intriguing specimen at the end of a tricorder.

Jim awkwardly clears his throat, in an effort to…he’s not sure what. He slides his gaze away from Spock’s sharp scrutiny, and busies himself with picking up his own drink. He takes a sip of the scalding coffee.

They lapse into almost comfortable silence until Jim, feeling himself relax, turns to the question he has wanted to know the answer to since he studied Spock in the Academy mess.

“Can I ask you a question? It might be considered personal?” he says, before taking another sip of coffee.

“Please feel free to ask any question you wish. I will endeavor to provide an answer, though I cannot promise that I will always be able to do so.”

Fair enough, Jim thinks. “What made you enlist in Starfleet, then? I thought Vulcans automatically enrolled in the Vulcan Science Academy. Kinda like it’s expected of you or something.” 

“It is indeed generally accepted that young Vulcan’s of sufficient academic achievement will enroll in the Science Academy. It is considered the most prestigious institute of higher learning on Vulcan, with a long and distinguished history. Indeed, many Vulcans consider it superior to Earth’s Starfleet.” 

He’d not been wrong in his assumptions then. “Why didn’t you go there? I’ve only known you for a few weeks, but it’s long enough to know that you don’t lack the intelligence or aptitude. You’re more than qualified.”

“Your supposition is correct. I surpassed the expectation of my instructors, and I was therefore naturally offered a place at the Academy.”

“And yet you’re here!” 

“Yes, I am here.” A moment’s pause as a small frown appears, before Spock says quietly. “I declined the offer.”

“I bet that went down well.”

“Indeed,” Spock says, somehow emanating humor without changing his expression. “No Vulcan has ever before declined admission to the Academy.”

“Why did you, then?” Jim asks, not wanting to push but wanting to know the answer. Something tells him there’s an interesting story here, and he instantly wants to know.

“I believed my future would be best served elsewhere, therefore it was logical to cultivate multiple options, one of which was Starfleet.” Spock’s mouth is set in a thin line, his gaze on his cup of tea, and Jim can tell that Spock doesn’t want to elaborate.

It’s discouraging that Spock won’t divulge, but he can raise the subject again at a later date. He’s not going to ruin things now. “Not something you want to talk about, eh? That’s okay. I get that. We all got things we don’t want to talk about.” 

Spock’s shoulders relax, and he briefly inclines his head in Jim’s direction, maybe in thanks at Jim’s respect for his privacy. 

“May I enquire as to your reasons for joining the Academy?”

Jim hesitates, unsure of how much to say. Though as Spock has not fully divulged his own reasons he feels justified in holding back in return.

“Well, you know it runs in the Kirk blood. You can’t be a Kirk and not be involved in Starfleet in some way or other. I was even born in space.” He gives a self-depreciating grin. “Plus, who wouldn’t want to go into space, to explore new world and civilizations? There’s a whole universe out there still waiting to be discovered and we’ve barely scratched the surface.”

It’s the truth, these are some of the reasons he joined up. But they’re not the whole truth. 

More than that, he doesn’t want to talk about the main reason he joined, the part that concerns Gary. So instead he moves the conversation on.

“It can’t be easy though, being the only Vulcan in Starfleet. Have you made any friends?”

“I have colleagues in the science laboratories that I work with on experiments and with whom I discuss research. However, other than those I do have one acquaintance who would qualify as a friend.” 

“Oh?”

“Yes, for a human Nyota is very logical. Furthermore, she is fluent in our language and conversant with our traditions and social customs. I greatly appreciate her friendship.” 

Jim tries to mentally place the name, but there's no spark of recognition. No doubt she is someone Spock met in the labs. He pictures a short mousey cadet with an elementary school demeanor, squinting down a tricorder. In other words, a geek.

Other words come back to him, spoken in another time. 

_“Look,” Sam continues reassuringly, “you’re going to be okay, you always are. Always doing everything right, getting good grades, teachers’ pet. You always obey every stupid order…” Sam used to say that he was a stack of PADDS and books with legs attached. ___

He shakes himself out of his musing. The identity of this _‘Nyota’ _is unimportant. The most important thing now is to emphasize his own credentials as a loyal friend.__

“Well, you’ve made another friend now, right?” he asks hopefully. He waggles his eyebrows at Spock. “After all I’m a very friendly guy.” 

His offer of friendship is genuine, regardless of his motives concerning the Maru. 

Spock shifts in his seat slightly. “Indeed, over the last few weeks of our acquaintance I have come to consider you a friend.” 

Jim is elated and flashes Spock his most brilliant smile. He notices Spock’s gaze drop to his lips, and linger there. Interesting. If Spock likes his smile then he can certainly accommodate that. After all, he knows how to make the best use of his assets. 

Jim turns the wattage up, to what he hopes is blinding. After a moment Spock’s gaze flickers back up to meet Jim’s. His eyes widen slightly before he quickly drops his gaze to his mug of tea. Jim notices a very slight olive tint wash across his cheekbones. Strange reaction, Jim thinks.

They spend another couple of hours chatting amiably about various things. Jim does most of the talking, but it doesn’t cause him any undue concern, as Spock seems to be enjoying his company. 

Jim talks about his friendship with Bones and tells the story of how they met. When Spock asks the obvious question of why someone suffering from an aversion to flying would join Starfleet, Jim simply states that Bones left Georgia for personal reasons. Spock for his part, talks about the things he misses about Vulcan, and some of the projects he is studying in the science labs. 

Eventually Jim notices that two hours have quickly slipped by unseen, when he only meant to spend about thirty minutes with Spock. He feels a little guilty for leaving Gary alone, because he’s forgiven him and now only wants to get back to him. “We should make a move before it gets too late.”

“Indeed.”

Both move from the table to pay for their drinks. 

They leave the cosy hospitality of The Coffee Garden to stand together on the sidewalk in the dull late afternoon light. The fog is still thick, and the air feels even cooler after the steamy warmth of the café. 

Even Jim pulls his coat collar up around his chin, Iowan winters or not. 

Spock, too, pulls his woolen hat down over his ears and his coat collar up around his neck, buttoning it all the way to the top. 

“We should do this again sometime,” Jim says, wanting to ensure that he has a further opportunity to build on the start he’s made. “You have my comm number, give me a ring or send me a message and we’ll arrange something.”

“I would be content to repeat this. It has been a most pleasant afternoon.”

“It sure has. Maybe we could hang out at the Academy too, sometimes. Catch a meal in the mess or whatever.”

“That would be agreeable.”

Much as Spock’s company is enjoyable, Jim wants to get home. “We’ll I’ve got somewhere else to be now, so catch you later, yeah?”

“Goodbye, Jim.”

Jim moves off in the direction of home without a backward glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to all those who have kindly left comments and kudos (and to those who have bookmarked the story). *Hugs* you all :)


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, you get another chapter, but only because I probably won't be able to post one next weekend.

Jim tries to get his brain to work, but everything seems a little fuzzy, a little blurred around the edges. Concentration is proving difficult, but that’s probably due to the throbbing pain. He thinks there must be a thousand elephants tap-dancing their way over his brain…in hob-nail boots. His head feels like lead, too heavy to hold up, and his eyes are slipping closed. 

The jarring ‘ping’ from the replicator telling him that his breakfast is ready causes his head to snap up almost painfully as he jerks upright, his internal musings abruptly halted. Yawning widely he removes a plate of toast from the machine and, picking up his mug of coffee in his other hand, he shuffles over to the kitchen table to sit down to a late breakfast. 

A very late breakfast he notes, as the chronometer clicks round to 09:59. He slept in, which he thinks is understandable under the circumstances, what with his brain trying to pound its way out of his skull. Only moments before he’d dragged his protesting body out of bed, before pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, smoothing his hair down and brushing his teeth. He hasn’t bothered with shaving or showering, too much effort. It’s Sunday and he’s planning on going back to bed anyway.

A shaft of blinding sunlight streams through the kitchen window, stabbing like a hot skewer straight through his eyes to sizzle painfully on the back of his retinas. With a curse he snaps his eyes shut and ducks his head. After a few moments of blinking rapidly he at least recovers some watery vision. He barks a command and the window mercifully darkens. 

Bleary eyed, he rubs a hand over the stubble on his chin and with a sigh picks up the knife to butter his toast. 

He tries to remember the events of the evening before. He knows he went out with some of the guys, Bones, Scotty, and Chekov among a few others. He knows he drank far too much. He can remember the earlier part of the evening before the alcohol had taken affect, but after that the recollections grow increasingly disjointed.

He tries to pull the memories together, but getting them to stick is like trying to knit treacle; they just glide back to the edges of his consciousness. The ping of the replicator finally breaks the effort and his fragmented thoughts scatter like pollen on a fresh spring breeze. 

“You look like death warmed over,” Gary says, his expression all too pleased and cheerful, as he plops down on a chair at the table, carefully placing his own plate down, which is piled high with breakfast pancakes, dripping with syrup. 

Jim frowns at him darkly, which only causes Gary’s smile to grow wider. He can’t share Gary’s amusement, not when he blames him for the hangover to end all hangovers he’s suffering from this morning.

“What? I did you a favor. You can’t stay in the house forever,” Gary says in response to Jim’s glare. “Admit it. If you’d answered the message, you’d have cried off and just stayed in instead.”

Jim doesn’t drop his narrowed, and he hopes, icy gaze from Gary.

Gary shifts a little in his chair, and a hint of defensiveness seeps into his voice, the frosty glare having the desired effect. “Well, you shouldn’t leave your PADD lying around if you don’t want your messages answered by someone else. Either that or change the password to one I don’t know.” 

Jim keeps Gary pinned in place with a scowl, attempting to express all his displeasure without words. He’ll shout at Gary later when it doesn’t feel like his head is about to explode.

The message seems to get through as Gary squirms and says, “Okay…okay, sorry, I’ll not do it again. Jeez!”

Jim shoots Gary one final glare, just to ensure he’s made his point before he allows his gaze to drop to Gary’s stack of pancakes, the mound teetering on the plate. Where the hell does he put it all? Why does a dead person even need to eat anyway? He looks back to his own forlorn slice of toast and hopes that his stomach can stop pitching and rolling like a storm tossed sea long enough for him to force a couple of mouthfuls down.

The doorbell rings, lancing more pain through his skull and he flinches, though he’s unsure how the buzzer could sound so loud over the cacophony of noise already making itself at home inside his head.

“Are you expecting someone?” Gary asks, quirking an eyebrow. 

“No…no one.” He frowns in confusion, before groaning and dropping his head into his hands, his elbows propped on the table. He doesn’t have the energy or the motivation for this today. “I just want the world to go away.”

“I don’t know about the world, but I can guarantee the rats are gone.”

Jim looks up at him, a little too quickly as more blinding pain slices its way through his skull, causing him to wince. “How? Even poison didn’t work.”

“It turns out they don’t like being haunted,” Gary says with an infuriatingly happy grin. “Who knew, eh?”

“Really? Are you sure?” 

“Yep,” Gary says, popping the p, before he takes a large bite of pancake.

He gives Gary a skeptical look, though when he takes a moment to think about it, he hasn’t heard them scratching around under the floorboards for a couple of weeks now, ever since Gary returned he realizes with a start.

“You better go and see who it is,” Gary says, interrupting his thoughts and reminding him that there’s still someone waiting for him to open the front door. On cue the doorbell rings again.

With a groan he drags himself up and goes into the hallway to check the monitor, no need to open the door till he knows the identity of the caller.

He illogically hopes its Bones with a life-saving hypo. He hates it when Bones regards his neck as his own personal pin-cushion, but at this minute he’d happily have McCoy hypo him into next week, if it’ll stop the pain shooting through his head and the upheaval in his stomach.

He activates the monitor and gives another groan when he sees the identity of his visitors. He shuffles back towards the kitchen.

“It’s Mom, Aurelan and Peter.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “At least I think it’s Peter. I can only see the top of his head.”

“I’ll make myself scarce,” Gary says, getting up. He frowns down at his pancakes. “Better take this with me, or it’ll get cold.”

“You’re going?” Jim moans, dread creeping at the thought of dealing with his visitors alone. He doesn’t exactly feel up to this today.

Gary gives him a look as though he’s just lost his mind. “I’m dead, remember? I can’t let them see me! I’m not supposed to be here at all.” 

He moves a little closer to Jim, his voice taking on a more sympathetic and reasoning tone. “Besides, think of the shock seeing me here would cause.” He grins. “Do you really want a crash course in midwifery? Because if Aurie sees me she’ll either faint or drop the sprog right here in the kitchen.”

Jim can’t argue with that. “You’ll come back though, won’t you?” he says, cringing as he can hear the plea in his voice, as cold dread washes through him. What if Gary doesn’t return? What if he can’t return? He only just came back. He knows he isn’t ready to let him go again.

Gary senses his distress and reaches out to rub a hand gently up and down Jim’s bicep. “Of course I will, you can count on it.” He grins. “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

Jim leans into the touch and then nods, reassured. “Okay, I’m going.” He reluctantly drags himself away and goes to let his visitors in.

He opens the front door and leans lazily against the frame. It makes standing upright less of an effort. Both women’s smiles are immediately replaced with matching expressions of concern. He casually scratches at an itchy spot on his chest, and tries to stifle a yawn. 

Winona climbs the last step and comes to stand next to him on the threshold. “Jim, are you okay? You look absolutely terrible!”

“Thanks Mom. Good to see you too.” He gives her a small smile to take the bite out of his words. “You’ve got a nice line in compliments there, by the way.”

She gives him an affectionate smile, but concern still lights her eyes. He remembers that both Winona and Aurie still expect him to be grieving. 

Winona presses the back of her hand to his forehead. “Are you falling ill?” 

“No, just got the hang-over from hell,” he admits, “I was out with a few of the guys last night.” 

“That sounds more like the Jim I know.” Winona says, her smile becoming wider. “I’m glad you’re getting out more. It’s about time!” She places a soft kiss against the rough stubble of his cheek and then moves past him on her way to his kitchen. 

Jim frowns after her. He knows the words are said with affection, but they still rankle slightly. His drinking and fighting days are over. Gary and Starfleet fixed that. He wishes she had more faith in him. Maybe, he thinks to himself, he’s just overly sensitive today.

Aurelan and Peter move past him with smiles and greetings. Jim shuts the door with a sigh and follows them into the kitchen.

Aurie approaches him, her short dark hair framing her face, as she looks up at him with her wide generous smiling mouth and vibrant green eyes. “Here, I made you some Plum Jelly,” she says, handing him a glass jar. 

He takes it from her. A neat orange label on the side names and dates the contents, the jar secured with a blue and white check lid. The jelly inside is thick and dark red against the glass. “Thanks,” he says with a smile.

More food, people keep bringing him food, or in Bones’ case, drink. He wonders at that. Maybe it’s because there’s little for people to say, because what do you say to the recently bereaved. Maybe that’s why they take refuge in platitudes and the giving of food.

Peter looks up at him, a beaming smile on his face. “Look, Uncle Jim,” he says, pulling his bottom lip down to reveal the gap in his teeth, “I lost a tooth.” 

“You sure did.”

Peter holds up a toy starship. “Look what the tooth fairy gave me.”

Jim makes a show of admiring the toy for Peter’s benefit. “That’s a really cool ship Pete.” He looks up to catch Winona’s eye. “The tooth fairy sure got a damn sight more generous since I was a kid.”

Winona smiles at him. “Don’t cuss, dear.” 

Which he knows is code for not in front of Peter, after all his mother can turn the air blue with the best of them.

****

Jim takes refuge in the kitchen as sounds of domestic endeavor drift through the house. The vacuum bot can be heard whirring to life from the living room where his sister-in-law Aurelan should be sitting, considering her condition. Overhead the sound of creaking floorboards reminds him that Winona is upstairs looking for cleaning and laundry that he may have missed. 

Jim calls from the kitchen to his sister-in-law. “What are you doing?” he shouts with some concern. “You should be sitting down.”

Her voice drifts back to him over the noise of the vacuuming “It’s no problem. I’m just pregnant, not an invalid. We can chat while we’re cleaning.” Jim makes no comment.

He turns his attention back to gathering mugs and coffee, moving as slowly as he can so that he can stay out of the way longer. He feels a presence enter the room and looks round to see his young nephew, Peter, standing there, an expression that is pure tedium on his face.

“You too, eh?” he says with a smile at the boy.

“I’m bored,” Peter responds with a pout.

“Join the club!” He turns and grabs a chocolate bar out of the fridge. He places a finger against his lips as he gestures for Peter to keep quiet, to keep a secret, as he quickly opens the bar and offers a piece of the creamy dark chocolate to Peter.

Peter gifts him with a wide beautiful smile as he takes a large bite of the treat. 

Jim decides to check in on Aurie. Attempting to suppress a sigh he joins her in the living room where she is dusting, and making a valiant effort to plump life into lumpy and limp cushions.

The sun is streaming into the room in window shaped patterns, bathing it in clean June sunlight. The golden light makes everything look fresh and new. The wide wooden floorboards look warm and rustic, and the bright red rug sitting in the middle of the floor looks less worn. The air is cloudy with dust motes, no doubt disturbed by the cleaning. 

Aurelian is well groomed in dark slacks and pale blouse and warm green cardigan. Her thick hair falls over her face as she concentrates on the task at hand.

She turns to him and holds a piece of moldy pizza and a lonely sock up for his inspection that she has obviously rescued from under the sofa. 

He frowns, not wanting to admit that he has let domestic chores slip, not that he was ever keen in the first place. Also, didn’t Gary pick the crap up from the floor when he was busy re-arranging the furniture? He mentally adds it to the list of things he needs to discuss with him. “I haven’t had time to be house-proud,” he says lamely.

“Vacuuming occasionally won’t hurt. But leave me to do it, I like cleaning.”

Jim decides to take her at her word and leave her to it, there is no arguing with her when she has made her mind up, and he just doesn’t have the energy. He walks back into the kitchen to busy himself with the drinks. Aurie’s voice breaks through from the other room.

“I wish you’d let us help you more. I could always pop round…”

“No thanks,” he quickly cuts her off. 

“Peter, what are you doing?” his mother calls.

Jim turns to look at Peter, still sitting at the kitchen table, chocolate smeared on his face.

Aurelan enters the kitchen. “What have you got on your face?” She asks Peter. 

“It’s chocolate. Sorry, that’s my fault, I gave it him.” Jim reassures.

She takes Peter to the kitchen sink and attempts to wash his face with a cloth.

Aurie then takes her son through to the living room where she plonks him on a chair. “Stay there, and try and sit still for five minutes...” She trails off.

Peter sits where instructed, his bottom lip stuck out in forlorn petulance. Aurelian relents and pulls her son to her so his head rests lightly against her pregnant belly, her hands softly carding through his hair, before moving back to the task of cleaning.

Jim puts the tray of drinks down on the table and then leans over and ruffles the hair on the crown of Peter’s head, in mute apology.

“Jim, how can you have rats?” Aurie’s voice rises as she spots a poison dish on the floor, the housework forgotten.

“It’s a personality defect.”

“I’m serious!” She frowns down at the dish.

“Well, I did try asking them, but they never did answer.” He shrugs his shoulders. 

She rolls her eyes at him.

“They’re gone now anyway. It’s an ex-rat problem. The rat-catcher’s coming back to pick his dishes up soon, I hope. So you see, problem all solved.” He offers her a smile and goes to sit at the table with his coffee.

“I wish you’d come and stay with us for a while. You could have people in and have this place done up properly, or sell it,” she adds, tearing a small strip of peeling paper from the wall nearest her.

Jim’s dismayed, but he keeps his voice light. “Don’t do that! That wallpaper’s the only thing holding the wall up.” He’s relived when his jokey tone has the desired affect and she abandons her efforts to remove the paper.

“Sam and I can’t bear to think of you living here all on your own.”

“I’m fine, really.”

Aurie sits on the sofa and surveys Jim from across the room, a sad expression on her face.

“How’s Sam?” Jim attempts to change the subject.

“Busy, he’s going on a brief science trip to Deneva soon.”

“When?”

“After Christmas.”

Jim frowns. “When’s the baby due?”

“Oh no, the baby will be two or three months by then, its fine, its fine.”

She adds, “He probably won’t go anyway, but it’s okay if he does go, he’s helpless with babies, so…” she lets the thought trail off, the smile slipping from her face.

Jim decides another change of subject is due. He gets up and moves to sit next to her on the sofa.

“I can’t sell the house, no-one’s buying, not even the nice ones. And let’s face it, only a lunatic would buy this one.” He grins at her. “A lunatic did buy this one.” He’s pleased to see her smile return.

“Maybe I should just raze it to the ground and have done with it.” He takes a sip of coffee. “Anyway I like it.” 

Aurie gives him a dubious look. 

“I like it,” he says a little louder to add emphasis. Anyway, there’s no way he can leave the house now that Gary’s here.

Peter ambles over to join them and clambers up onto Jim’s lap, mindful of the hot coffee Jim is holding. 

“I like it, too,” Peter exclaims.

“Exactly,” Jim agrees.

“It’s big,” adds Peter.

“Ahh, so are you!” 

Jim focuses his attention on Peter. “Are you looking forward to having a little brother?”

“I don’t mind.” Peter shrugs, looking less than enthusiastic. 

“I think he’s hoping for a pet dog, rather than a baby brother,” interjects Aurelian.

Before Jim can think of a response, Winona enters the room, her fair hair now piled messily up in a haphazard bun and secured with a comb. She grabs a drink from the table and comes to sit on the other side of Jim. 

“It’s not as bad as I feared it might be. You’ve kept on top of things pretty well,” she says, taking a sip of her drink.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom. I can actually look after myself and everything.”

“I know honey. But you forget that I can remember the state of your bedroom,” she says, patting his knee.

He rolls his eyes. 

Peter clambers back off his knee to go and play with his new starship, and Jim takes the opportunity to let his head fall back to rest against the sofa. As the women begin to chat across him, he lets his eyes slip closed. He’ll just rest a minute and hopefully the hang-over will recede a little.

He opens his eyes, a little confused, until he remembers where he is and that he’s got visitors. He lifts his head to see Aurie’s lips moving. He tries to concentrate on what she’s saying, so that he can pick up the thread of their conversation.  
“…And then the nurse had to get the forceps, and poor Sarah was dragged right down the bed. But then again little Tommy did weigh over thirteen pounds.” 

The words register inside Jim’s throbbing skull and he jumps up from the sofa. Belatedly he remembers his mug of coffee and looks around the floor in confusion when he can’t find the spilt drink. 

“I put your drink back on the table when you started falling asleep,” Winona says, trying to hide her mirth. 

Fell asleep! “Thanks…erm I think I better go and…er check on something.” He leaves the room to the sound of the women’s laughter. 

****

He goes looking for Gary. But Gary is nowhere to be seen.

He quietly and quickly looks in all the upstairs rooms, becoming increasingly frantic, because what if Gary was wrong about being able to come back? This is the first time since Gary returned that Jim has had visitors and the first time Gary has made himself scarce. 

“Gary, where are you?” he whispers, and he doesn’t like the edge of desperation he can hear in his voice.

He goes to the bedroom and when he can’t see Gary there, he sits dejectedly on the bed.

He puts his face in his hands. Maybe he did imagine Gary being back after all. Maybe he really is going insane. No, he tells himself, Gary promised that he’d return. Besides, it’s been nearly a month now and he can’t have been hallucinating for all that time.

Suddenly he feels fingers jab him on either side of his ribs and he jumps up from the bed with a shout. He can hear Gary laughing softly behind him.

“Is this going to be your party trick?” says Jim exasperated. 

He hears Winona call up the stairs, her voice laced with concern as she asks him if he’s okay. 

He throws a glare at Gary before going to stand at the top of the stairs. “No it’s okay. I just stubbed my toe on the bed, that’s all,” he reassures her. 

She nods her head and goes back into the living room. 

He moves back into the bedroom, where Gary is grinning at him. 

“You can be really annoying sometimes, you know.” 

“Yeah, I know. But it’s all just part of my charm,” Gary says, winking at him.

Jim can’t argue with that. He goes to Gary and puts his arms around the other man’s neck. He can feel Gary’s arms slip around his waist in response.

“And another thing,” he says, looking Gary right in the eye. “I don’t believe the rats left because they’re scared of ghosts.”

“Oh no?” responds Gary, raising an eyebrow.

“No, they probably died of heat exhaustion”.

Gary laughs. 

Jim grins and then moves closer, brushing his mouth against Gary’s neck before working his way upwards, over the jaw and towards the other’s lips. He pulls Gary’s mouth forward to meet his, for a long and enjoyable kiss. 

Gary is the first to break the kiss and pull back. “You should take Peter to the park. He’d like that. Plus the fresh air will do your hang-over a world of good.”

“I don’t want to go to the park. I want to carry on doing this,” Jim says, leaning forward to trail light kisses along Gary’s jaw. 

“Much as I like this too, it’s not really practical at the moment, is it?”

Jim heaves a sigh and pulls back slightly. “I guess not.”

“Go to the park for a few hours,” Gary says, returning to his theme. “Pete’s bored, and anyway you don’t want to sit here listening to stories of pregnancy and childbirth in gory detail, do you?”

Jim has to admit that he doesn’t.

“I’ll be here when you get back. You can go and take Pete to see the butterfly house, he’d like that.” Gary becomes more enthusiastic. “Besides they’ve got the Vulcan gardens there too.”

Jim groans. “When is this obsession with everything Vulcan going to end? It’s getting a bit old now.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve got other interests. I’m thinking of learning Spanish and chess.”

Jim shakes his head in amusement. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“Yeah, but you still love me.”

Jim grins. “That I do.” He pulls Gary closer to him. “But what will you do if I go out?” 

“Don’t worry about me, I can look after myself. You need to get out of the house occasionally. It’s a home,” Gary says, looking Jim in the eye as he reaches up to caress his cheek. “Don’t turn it into your prison.”


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Jim sits slouched on a bench in Golden Gate Park, watching Peter play on the grass in front of him. The boy is all slim bodied and loose limbed, like most toddlers and young children just past toddler-hood. The result of being too busy and too full of restless energy to do anything more than snack on the food provided, or to sit still for more than a few moments. 

Peter is intent on holding his starship aloft, swooping it through the air. He turns the small craft this way and that, doubtless dreaming of action and adventures on distant worlds in far flung galaxies. He’s too full of energy for even Jim to keep pace with today, and Jim definitely doesn’t have the inclination to follow Gary’s suggestion and pay a visit to either the butterfly house or the Vulcan gardens.

He’s just grateful that his head feels a little better. At least the elephants are gone. They seem to have been replaced with a thousand gazelles leaping and prancing, the sting of their sharp little hooves lacerating his brain. But at least he no longer wants to cut off his own head.

With a sigh he also lets go of the resentment he’s been holding against Gary since he got out of bed this morning. He’s been blaming him for the hangover, blaming him for answering the comm message from Bones and accepting the invitation for a night out. Jim resolves to change the password on his PADD.

But he has to be honest and admit to himself that his hangover isn’t Gary’s fault. He alone went out for the evening resentful that Gary had accepted on his behalf. He alone had decided that drinking on an empty stomach was a good idea and he alone, feeling hurt at Gary’s actions, had drunk far too much. More than he normally would have. No, it was all him. He has to take responsibility for his own screw-ups. He just hopes he didn’t do anything too embarrassing.

“Don’t stray too far will you?” he says to Peter, concerned that the child will wander off. He’s not exactly great with kids, and having no experience doesn’t help. 

“I won’t, Uncle Jim,” Peter responds with a small smile. He moves closer, to sit on the grass near Jim’s bench.

It’s a lovely day. The park is full of people spending time together – all sorts of people, lots of time. The heavy warm air is full of laughter and chatter, bird song, and the aroma of wild flowers.

Watching the scene, Jim feels the familiar ache of sorrow start to throb in his chest. He thought he was past this. There’s no need for grief, Gary is with him again. But it’s not the same. Gary should be sharing this with them. But if Gary’s right about not being able to leave the house, Jim knows he will never share a day like this with him again, and the knowledge pains him.

_The grass is golden with small yellow flowers, and it shivers briefly in the breeze, ripples running over its surface like an undulating green and yellow sea around them. Jim lies on his back in the sweet smelling meadow, gazing up at the heavens, Gary lying beside him._

_Jim smiles and points up at a cloud. “Look, your mother.” ___

_“You think every cloud looks like my mom.” ___

_Jim continues pointing at the cloud in question. “But this one does look like your mom. Look: eyes, nose, eyebrows…beard, brilliant.” With an effort he holds his laughter in. ___

_“My mom hasn’t got a beard!” Gary says with some exasperation, though Jim can tell that he’s trying not to laugh. ___

_Jim does laugh, unable to hold it in any longer. ___

_Suddenly the sky and clouds are blocked from sight, as a dark shadow looms above him. ___

_Gary looks down at him with a mock stern expression. “As you’ve insulted my mother I’ll have to take retribution. Hmm let’s see, what punishment would be appropriate?” ___

_Gary pretends to ponder the question before he leans down to kiss Jim deeply, a hand wrapping itself in Jim’s hair. Eventually they have to breathe again, and Gary pulls back to regard him. ___

_“You call that punishment.” ___

_Gary laughs. ___

_“Hmm, if that’s your idea of punishment, I’ll have to insult your mom more often,” Jim says with a grin. ___

_Gary smiles down at him. “I love you.” ___

_“I know. I love you too.” ___

_Jim raises his hand to Gary’s neck and pulls him down into another brief but enjoyable kiss. He can feel Gary’s stubble graze his skin, feel soft lips brush his…_

Jim pushes the memory forcefully away and drops his head into his hands. He is not going to cry, he is not going to cry, damn it.

He wants to ask Gary questions about the future, about their future. Wants to ask him why he can’t leave the house, why he can’t allow others to see him. When Jim graduates and accepts a posting on a starship, how will Gary be with him, if he’s tied to a home that Jim has to leave behind? He wants to ask all this and more, but he’s afraid of the answers. Because what if the answers aren’t the ones he wants to hear? He hates the fact that he’s afraid to ask, he never took himself for a coward.

He can only hope that Gary has a plan for them to be together, a plan for when Jim graduates. A contingency plan.

“Jim. Good morning.”

The voice, deep, melodious and softly spoken washes over Jim and illogically soothes his hurting brain like a balm. Jim swallows and looks up. “Oh, hey Spock.”

“I did not expect to encounter you here,” Spock says, an eyebrow quirking upwards.

“Me neither,” Jim says with a small smile. He glances behind Spock, but the Vulcan appears to be alone. “Out for a walk?”

“Indeed. It appears that I am not the only one,” Spock’s says as he takes a seat on the bench, his gaze travelling quickly up and down Jim’s body, no doubt taking in his less than salubrious appearance. 

Jim suddenly feels self-conscious at his lack of personal hygiene. He wishes he’d taken a shower now. Maybe a shave wouldn’t have gone amiss either. He looks at Spock, immaculate as always. The Vulcan no doubt sleeps and even wakes perfectly groomed, Jim thinks. He’s glad that he’s sitting down-wind of Spock, in case Vulcan olfactory senses are keener than a human’s. 

“Yeah, I’m out to get a bit of fresh air, try and clear the cobwebs from my head.” He grins ruefully at Spock, feeling the need to offer an explanation for his dishevelment. “I’m not at my best today, got a bit of a hangover.”

“I see,” Spock says, and though Jim would have thought he’d disapprove Spock sounds more amused than anything.

Spock’s gaze alights on Peter, who is now looking at the Vulcan with rapt curiosity. 

“Spock, this is Peter my nephew. Pete this is Spock, a friend from the Academy.”

“Are you a Vulcan?” Peter asks.

“I am.” The edges of Spock’s lips curl slightly upwards.

“Cool!” He goes to stand in front of Spock, eyes wide. 

Jim can see that Peter’s attention is caught by Spock’s pointed ears. 

“Your ears look just like Peter Pan’s,” Peter says, reaching forward as though to touch them. 

Jim grabs his hand before it can go any further. “No Pete. That’s not polite.”

Peter looks disappointed, but makes no further move. Instead, his expression slowly brightens and he pulls his bottom lip down to show Spock the gap where his tooth used to be. “Look, I lost a tooth. The tooth fairy gave me this.” He holds his toy aloft so that Spock can inspect it. 

“The fairy put it on my pillow. I didn’t see it until morning.” Peter’s eyes widen with awe and wonder. “She must have been too small for me to see.” He frowns. “If she’s so small how did she get the toy onto my pillow?”

Jim holds his breath, hoping that Spock doesn’t say anything that will destroy Peter’s childlike belief in the tooth fairy. He decides to intervene before Spock can respond with ice cold logic. But before he can open his mouth Spock is already addressing Peter.

“There are many things in the universe that we do not yet know of.”

Jim, surprised and touched at Spock’s response catches the Vulcan’s eye and smiles at him, mouths, _“Thanks.”_

Spock inclines his head in a shallow nod. 

“I’m bored,” Peter says a pout on his face, his attention already turned away from fairies and Vulcan’s.

Jim thinks that maybe Gary’s suggestion isn’t a bad idea after all. He glances towards the bio-sphere in the distance, where the Vulcan gardens are housed, one of many environments recreated in the park which take their inspiration from other planets in the Federation. 

“How about we visit the butterflies? That should be good.” 

“Okay.” Peter nods, smiling again.

Jim looks to Spock. “You want to come see some butterflies? While we’re there we could visit the Vulcan gardens. You can be our tour guide to all things Vulcan. That okay?” He hopes Spock agrees as it’ll give him more time to earn Spock’s trust.

“That would be agreeable.”

“Perfect, let’s get going then,” Jim says, forcing a smile as he gets to his feet.

They slowly make their way towards the dome. They skirt Stow Lake where turquoise dragonflies hover over the glassy surface, their bodies iridescent in the warm shafts of sunlight glinting off the surface. A sudden breeze ripples the water and causes the tall grasses beside it to dip and dance before once again returning to their somnolent stillness.

They move along a dark pathway, shaded by a canopy of trees, their dark leaves dappling the ground with shadow. The dank trail is edged with short grasses, the grass growing to seed and flecked with tiny flowers. Small insects flit over it. They can no longer see the bio-sphere.

Peter, a little further ahead, has stopped to inspect something on the ground.

Jim hurries forward to see what he has found. A dead mouse lies near the grass verge. The tiny bones are bleached white with only a few bits of desiccated flesh still clinging to them. A couple of flies hover lethargically over the diminutive corpse.

“Eww, gross!” Peter says, wrinkling his nose.

“When I was your age I’d be poking it with a stick,” Jim tells him.

Peter looks up at him with a frown from where he is crouching over the dead rodent. “Why?”

“To satisfy my curiosity I suppose. It’s the only way to really learn. Books, much as I love them, can only take you so far. You have to get your hands dirty, experience things first hand.”

He wonders whether Peter understands his point. His lack of experience with young children makes him unsure at what level to pitch his explanation.

“Like playing you mean? Our teacher, Miss Warren, says we learn when we’re playing.” He grins up at Jim. 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean. Playing and getting your hands dirty.”

“Well, I don’t want to poke it with a stick Uncle Jim, if that’s alright with you,” Peter informs him solemnly before moving off further down the path.

“That’s fine Pete, you don’t have to,” Jim says amusement bubbling up through the miasma of melancholy as he watches Peter skip ahead.

As he follows, he catches Spock’s eye. The Vulcan is regarding him with a sideways glance, an eyebrow quirked in what Jim assumes to be curiosity.

“What? It’s true. You don’t learn anything from books. Sure, you acquire a means to rationalize your life experiences, but that’s all. You get the theory only, and you can’t always transfer written material, that theory, into active real life situations. You still have to go out and experience things. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I speak as someone who loves a good book. But you need to experience life too. You need to take risks, be prepared to test yourself.” His lips twitch. “I bet you spent your time as a child cooped up in your bedroom squinting down a tricorder.”

An elegant eyebrow arches upwards as Spock slides another sideways glance at him. “Your assumption is incorrect. Naturally, I spent many hours absorbed in various reading materials, as these are valuable repositories of scientific and cultural knowledge.” Spock clasps his hands behind his back as he continues to walk alongside Jim, matching his pace. “However, many hours of my childhood were also spent exploring the mountains and deserts around my home. I would take a tricorder with me and would collect and analyse many specimens of local fauna and flora. Indeed I took many such samples home for further study.” His mouth quirks at one corner. “I do believe that qualifies as ‘getting my hands dirty’.”

Jim lets lose a chuckle. “It sure does.” 

Spock inclines his head, and if Jim isn’t mistaken there’s a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

The dome looms before them, glinting in the bright sunlight. As they near it the walkways become awash with people, the occasional alien dotted amongst them. A steady stream of humanity flow along the path, summer skin freckling, hands grasping ice-cream cones and hot-dogs. Jim glances sideways at Spock, concerned the Vulcan will be accidently touched or brushed against in the press of bodies. 

He grabs Peter’s hand and angles his own body slightly ahead of Spock in an attempt to cleave a route through the throng of people. 

As they enter, there is a brief tingle over his skin as he passes through the stasis field, which separates the butterfly house from the rest of the park. It’s warmer here. Lavender and honeysuckle scent the humid air, along with something more acrid.

The butterfly enclosure is brimming with green vegetation stretching up towards the vaulted ceiling above. Jim can hear the tinkling of running water and he spots a little stream bubbling over stones, flitting between sunlight and shadow, before it disappears into the dark undergrowth.

They walk along suspended wooden bridges snaking through the shrubbery. Peter walks a little ahead of them, already on the lookout for butterflies. One skims past, black and dark pink. Pete reaches out to try and touch it, but it floats ever upwards toward the translucent ceiling above. As they look more carefully they spot many more, in a dazzling array of colors. Occasionally they catch glimpses of other visitors further ahead and the quiet murmur of conversation. 

Jim notices Spock glance at him from the corner of his eye. “Does this risk taking include driving automobiles over cliffs? Though no doubt you were referring to a hover car.” A beat. “I believe you were going to relate the story to me. I would like to hear it, if you are still willing.”

“I’m certainly still willing,” a beat, as Jim finds he likes surprising Spock, “but no it wasn’t a hover car. It was a 20th century cherry red Corvette.”

Spock’s eyes widen, as a brow flies up towards his bangs, much to Jim’s amusement. 

He doesn’t want to tell Spock why he decided to take the car, he’s unwilling, out of habit to share that much. The very idea makes him feel tense and uneasy. Even Bones doesn’t know the full details.

But he can tell Spock the fun part, the actual race across the flat open plains of Iowa, the local police in hot pursuit.

_Panicky but determined Jim clutches the wheel in a death grip, his knuckles white, as he steers the corvette down the empty, ruler-straight road. The longer he drives, the faster he goes, and the faster he goes, the easier it becomes, until he is filled with elation. ___

_Oh God, the speed – the overwhelming sensation of speed. Jim knows in that instant that he will always love speed and the adrenaline rush it gives him. He feels truly alive and free for the first time in his life… ___

He turns to Spock, the buzz from the memory making him grin widely. 

As they make their way along the winding trail, Jim regales Spock with the tale. He can tell that he has Spock’s undivided attention from the little variations in Spock’s body language and his expressive eyebrows.

Eventually they arrive at the exit, where a sign reminds them to check that they are not taking any butterflies out of the enclosure on their person.

A brief check reveals that Spock does indeed have a passenger. A cobalt blue butterfly. It rests gently on Spock’s right shoulder.

Without stopping to think, Jim gently brushes his fingertips against the soft texture of Spock’s tunic as he carefully dislodges the insect. It flits away soundlessly. Feather-light his fingers rest briefly against the Vulcan’s broad shoulder. He can just about feel the muscles beneath tense for a fraction of a second before relaxing again. Jim remembers himself and pulls his hand away, as if burned.

Spock, however, seems unperturbed. “Thank you, Jim.”

“No problem.” He smiles. Their eyes lock momentarily before Jim looks away, clearing his throat.

He steps forward to pass through the statis field to the Vulcan Gardens. He feels the familiar tingle over his skin.

The air is thinner here and there is a tightening feeling in Jim’s chest as his lungs begin to work just that little bit harder. The heat is oppressive, but Jim finds that he doesn’t mind this so much. Over the last month or so he finds he has become acclimatised to warmer temperatures, thanks to Gary. 

The gardens are well manicured and arranged in methodical order. Tiny pieces of multi-colored gravel and sand lie between each plant.

“And what then did you learn from this experience?” Spock asks, interrupting Jim’s thoughts. The Vulcan looks relaxed, looks at home.

“Let’s see,” Jim says, ticking off on his fingers as he goes along. “I learnt how to handle a car at speed, how the car reacted to different road conditions and speeds, how to think quickly in a changing situation, and how to evade the local police.” He grins. “But the most important thing I learnt was that I’m a total adrenaline junkie.”

“No doubt you also learnt that you desired to be the center of attention,” Spock says, languidly amused.

“Me? Where did you get an idea like that?” Jim says in mock indignation. 

The only response is an eyebrow arching upwards gracefully.

Jim forces levity to his tone he doesn’t quite feel. “You can already read me like a book, eh? I’ll have to watch that. I’d no idea I was that transparent.”

And he has no idea how he feels about that. He’s not confident enough yet that he can read Spock well, so it a little disconcerting that Spock seems to have the upper hand.

A breath. “Going to be our tour guide then, to all things Vulcan and horticultural?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

They meander through the Vulcan gardens, Spock pointing out and naming many of the plants for Jim and Pete. The soft purple of the Ysleta blooms. The tiny white flowers of the Waneti whose scent now hangs thick and sweet in the warm air. Tall golden rods of the sun plant, Yelas, grow near a cluster of scraggly Sash-savas trees, which add their delicate and haunting aroma to the mixture of fragrances. 

As Spock continues to regale them with information, Jim feels a tugging on his sleeve and looks down to see a bored and sweaty Peter.

Voice sagging with fatigue and the day’s heat, he says, “Uncle Jim, I’m hungry.”

Jim feels an itch of remorse. He obviously sucks at baby-sitting. “Sorry Pete, we’ll go grab something to eat now, okay?”

“Can I have pizza?” Pete asks looking up at Jim with a gap-toothed smile.

“Sure thing,” he says with a smile of apology. He turns to Spock. “That okay with you?”

An eyebrow arches in surprise. “I do not wish to impose.” 

“You’re not, we’ve invited you.” He offers a warm smile to Spock. “Haven’t we Pete?” He turns to Peter who is nodding in agreement.

“Great, let’s go,” Jim says, feeling relaxed. He’s surprised to realise that the hang-over has melted away like snowflakes in the sun. His spirits lift. Gary was right, he feels much better for having got out of the house.

****

…”They say that when you know you’re going to die, you don’t remember the deadlines you had, or the bills still unpaid. You don’t wish you’d worked harder or eaten more fibre – you remember your friends and family and the people you loved. You remember the happy times.” Gary sounds somber and reflective, so unlike him. Jim gazes down at the top of Gary’s head with a frown. 

They’re sitting on the sofa, as outside dusk falls. Gary is lying against him, his head on Jim’s chest, his arm thrown around Jim’s waist.

“But you didn’t know you were going to die,” Jim says quietly, unsure of where the conversation is going, because Bones is right; Gary isn’t known for being philosophical, he’s informal and devil-may-care.

“No, that’s true. But the essence is still the same. I don’t really miss the Academy or the assignments, the bills or _this house. _I do miss my friends, Len and Scotty and the rest. I miss them.” A beat. “I missed you.”__

Jim swallows past the lump in his throat. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Gary’s head. 

He sucks in a breath and steals himself to ask the questions he needs to ask. Now would be the perfect time. The doorbell sounds.

“It’s a bit late isn’t it? Are you expecting somebody?” 

“No,” Jim groans. He doesn’t want to answer the door. He feels irritated that the moment has been interrupted. He knows that he’ll never ask the questions today. His nerve has gone, the moment lost. 

“Better get it. It could be important,” Gary says, pulling away from Jim and sitting up, much to Jim’s disappointment.

“We could hide. Pretend we’re not in.” 

“Why? You can’t hide from the world forever.”

Jim gets up and reluctantly goes to the window.

Looking down to the tree lined street below, he can see George’s hover car parked at the kerb, and the man himself standing on his doorstep. 

“It’s George. Come to collect his gear, probably,” he says turning back to Gary.

“Better let him in, then,” Gary says with a smile.

Jim hesitates, unsure whether to leave Gary considering the mood the other man seems to be in. Gary raises an eyebrow at him, in a perfect imitation of Spock. Jim turns and heads for the door with a resigned sigh.

George smiles at him. “Hello there, Jim.”

“George. Hello,” Jim says, his tone sulky. “Come in.”

He turns towards the living room, George trailing in his wake. 

“I’ve been calling and calling. Is your comm not working?” George asks, his tone perplexed.

They enter the living room and he’s not surprised to see the room empty, Gary having melted into thin air as if he’d never been there. Jim turns his attention to George.

“No, it’s working fine.” He frowns. “I’m sure I didn’t get any messages.”

“I thought I’d better pop round, to collect my things. Is this an inconvenient time?”

“Of course not, it’s perfect timing,” Jim says, attempting to be more welcoming, though he feels apprehension begin to pool in his stomach and he doesn’t know why. 

Shaking off the disconcerting feelings he decides to tell George the good news. “George, you’ll never believe this, but the rats are gone.”

George looks at him suspiciously. “Of course they won’t have gone.” 

“No, they’ve really gone,” he says, excitement creeping into his voice.

George regards him for a moment, as though trying to work out a response. It’s clear he’s struggling to believe what Jim is saying.

Finally, he says with a shake of his head: “Jim, Jim, shall I tell you how many years I’ve worked in pest control? Shall I tell you? Far more years than I care to remember. I’ve worked in pest control since before you were a twinkle in your daddy’s eye.” He puts his tool box down on the floor, and turns towards the poison dish on the floor. “It’s a war Jim, and like all good wars you develop a healthy respect for the enemy. Never underestimate them.”

“…Right.”

George picks the dish up from the floor and shakes it gently, an expression of disgust on his face. “Look at this, the buggers haven’t even touched it.”

He rattles the little dish at Jim. “They lie low, you know. They won’t touch the trays of poison, so I clear off, and then they come back. They’re not stupid.”

“No…no, they’re not,” Jim agrees. _They were certainly smart enough to out-wit you. ___

“Your trays are completely untouched,” Georges says, obviously totally mystified. “Do you know, I think they talk to each other?”

“I suppose they do seem…organized,” Jim says, attempting to play along with the bizarre conversation.

George casts his rheumy gaze around the living room. “You’ve cleaned.”

“Yeah, well it needed it.”

“Looks good. Is it me, or is it very hot in here?” George says, and Jim can see that a fine sheen of perspiration has broken out on his flushed face.

“The heat’s on the blink, I think.”

“You should get it fixed, Jim. It can’t be healthy having the house this warm,” George says, dabbing at his face with his sleeve.

Jim shrugs. “I’ve kind of grown used to it. Do you want a drink?”

“Thanks. I think I’d better have a glass of water, before I faint.”

****

Jim sits cross legged on the bed, studying reports and academy work on his PADD.

After finally convincing George that the rats have indeed gone, they had agreed that George should have a final look round to confirm the absence of the rodents, and then collect his dishes. Jim has decided to kill the time waiting by getting some work done.

There is a gentle rapping of knuckles on the bedroom door.

“Come in.” Jim says, relived that George must have finally finished. It means that Gary can come back.

George sticks his head around the door, but doesn’t enter. “That’s me done, I’m off.”

“Thanks George. Sorry if I was a bit unwelcoming before.”

“You’re never unwelcoming. You’re a great guy Jim. I was telling my wife about you.”

“Oh…really,” Jim says confused. “I’m sorry George, I was under the impression your wife was deceased.” Because he could swear that George had previously informed him of this fact.

“She is. She died in ’48. I still talk to her though, tell her all about my day. You know what I mean, don’t you?” George says, looking at Jim meaningfully.

“I do…yes.” Jim says a prickling of unease unfurling in his stomach.

“Death shall have no dominion. We know that you and me. Don’t we Jim?”

George holds his gaze a fraction longer, and to Jim his eyes seem to say I know your secret. A chill creeps up Jim’s spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention. Before he can formulate a response, George is waving goodbye. 

“Well, it’s been nice knowing you, Jim. Take care of yourself. Don’t worry, I’ll let myself out.”

Jim continues to stare at the spot George just vacated.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Jim quickly makes his way towards the mess. The early morning mist has faded quickly and the day is fresh and bright, a faint breeze bringing with it the scent of the ocean. Sunlight glints off the surface of the bay, and the gentle warmth of the summer sun envelops him like an embrace. 

He’s only half aware, his surroundings on the periphery of his attention. His mind occupied by other thoughts. 

George’s words from the week before are reverberating around his skull. For the most part he hasn’t thought of them, but every so often they push up from his subconscious like so many weeds. They unsettle him. What does it mean? That Gary is not the only one to return from the dead? Or has he misconstrued George’s words, read more into their meaning than was actually there? 

He feels the need to talk. If he can just speak his jumbled thoughts out loud, set them free into the ether, they’ll have less power to disturb him. If he can just get some answers. The obvious candidate would be Gary, but that will mean broaching topics that Jim finds he’s still not ready to discuss. This knowledge causes him further disquiet. He’s never been one to avoid a problem or dodge an issue. 

He doesn’t want to discuss it with Bones either. He has no wish to compound his earlier mistake. 

Besides, he doesn’t want to add to his friend’s stress. He’d received a comm message that morning from Bones, containing an irritable diatribe about how a fortnight from now, Starfleet are sending him via the USS Inova, to Ceti V, one of five planets circling Tau Ceti. Much to Bones’ ire he’s being sent to take part in a mass vaccination program, amongst other medical training simulations. He knows that Bones hates to fly, hates being in space, and sure enough Bones is, to put it mildly, not happy to be going. Jim’s not happy to be losing him, even if only for three weeks. 

His stomach rumbles, drawing him from his contemplation, and he quickens his pace. He enters the mess to find it rapidly filling with cadets. The noise level is already approaching distracting, as talking and laughter fill the space. Bones is not going to be able to make lunch today, but Jim feels like company.

His eyes sweep the airy sunlit room and he sees Spock standing at the end of a line for a replicator. The queue at an adjacent replicator seems to be moving swifter. Jim disregards it. He approaches Spock, quickening his pace to get to the Vulcan’s side before anyone else does. His stomach grumbles a protest.

“Hey Spock,” he says with a grin. “Good morning.”

Spock turns towards him and Jim thinks he seems genuinely happy to see him. Warmth blooms in his chest and he widens his smile in response. 

“As it is precisely eight minutes past midday then I would suggest it is actually the afternoon,” Spock says good-naturedly, humor lighting his eyes.

“Well then, Mr. pedantic,” Jim says with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, “good afternoon.” 

Spock inclines his head, mouth twitching at one corner. “Good afternoon, Jim.”

Jim chuckles. The line shuffles forward.

An idea flares to life inside Jim’s mind. Why doesn’t he ask Spock? Okay, maybe it’s not the best idea he’s ever had. Vulcans probably think it’s illogical to believe in ghosts or life after death, or whatever. He doesn’t want to go into the specifics of his own situation, but he can enquire about Vulcan beliefs or otherwise. He finds he’s actually interested in the answer.

They finally reach the replicator. Spock punches in his order. Jim casts a furtive glance at the Vulcan’s food choices. There’s a bewildering array of wilted looking fruit and salad vegetables on his plate. It doesn’t look especially appetizing. 

Jim turns his attention to the replicator and his spirits rise further as he realizes the benefits of not sharing lunch with Bones. He grins as he punches in an order for a steak sandwich and fries. In deference to his absent friend he orders a side salad and orange juice. 

He turns to Spock. “Want to share a table?”

“That would be agreeable,” Spock says, the lines around his eyes and mouth softening a little. 

Jim quickly glances around the mess, wondering if Spock’s friend, Nyota, is present. It’d probably be considered good manners to invite her to join them. But he quickly abandons his search as he realizes that as he’s never met her, he wouldn’t recognize her if she was stood in front of him.

He turns back to Spock. “What about Nyota?”

“Nyota is currently meeting with other friends, and will not be joining me this lunch period.”

Jim lets go of a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Shall we then?” 

“Indeed.”

Tray of food in hand he leads the way through the crowded mess to a small table against the wall farthest from the entrance. It’s about the only space left.

Reaching it, he places his tray on the surface and slumps down on an empty seat. Spock sinks gracefully onto the seat opposite. 

Jim takes a sip from his glass and grimaces as the sour flavor of the fruit juice hits his taste-buds. It tastes like it could be a substitute for battery acid. He swallows it with an effort.

He looks up to see Spock regarding him, an eyebrow arched elegantly, his amusement indicated in a small upward curl of his lips. “Indeed,” Spock remarks dryly.

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You have no need. Your expression has articulated your feelings perfectly adequately.” Spock’s gaze drops to his own plate. He slowly twirls a limp salad leaf around his fork. “I find I concur with your sentiments. Starfleet food replication leaves much to be desired.”

“Understatement of the year,” Jim responds with a wry smile.

He pushes the glass of juice away and busies himself with reaching for the condensation-frosted water jug. He grabs a fresh glass and pours himself a generous measure of iced-water.

“You know it never ceases to amaze me, how Starfleet can do all the shit they do, but they can’t replicate a simple glass of fruit juice, or a salad leaf.” He shakes his head. 

Jim takes a sip of water. It’s cool and refreshing and mercifully sluices the acidic taste from his mouth.

His stomach growls again and he’s reminded how hungry he is. He takes a large bite of his sandwich, chewing quickly in an effort to appease his protesting stomach. He looks up, meets Spock’s gaze. Amusement sparkles in the dark depths. Jim lets a grin break free in response.

They continue eating in companionable silence. Jim’s not sure how to raise the subject he wants to discuss, or rather not the real topic he wants to discuss, but something close to it. He turns the problem over in his mind, trying to formulate a question.

As his mind wanders he finds himself watching Spock. The Vulcan’s attention is on his meal as he methodically and neatly slices a root vegetable. Jim notices for the first time the long elegant fingers, fragile looking bones belying Vulcan strength, the neat ovals of his finger nails. He watches, unable to look away, as Spock deftly stabs the slice with his fork and raises it to his lips. Jim’s gaze drifts from Spock’s fingers, resettles on the curve of his lips, the outline of his jaw. Something tugs in his chest. 

Jim drops his gaze, feeling suddenly disconcerted. What the hell! 

He risks a brief upward glance at Spock, but fortunately the Vulcan’s attention is still occupied with his meal.

He clears his throat. “Mind if I ask a question?”

Dark eyes look up to regard him. “I do not mind. As I have previously indicated you are free to ask any question you wish.” 

Jim gives him another grin, but hesitates not sure how to phrase his query. He sucks in a breath and releases it in a soft exhale.

“Do Vulcans believe in life after death?” He pauses and then goes on in a rush. “Or at least believe in a soul or something like that? I mean, have Vulcans ever wondered what lies beyond death?”

An eyebrow shoots up.

“What?” Jim asks his voice lit with humor. “You didn’t expect me to ask anything philosophical because I’m just a cocky dumb hick who can’t be expected to know his ass from his elbow?” 

“On the contrary. I know you to be a very intelligent and astute individual. However, for some unfathomable reason you persist in trying to hide this fact at every conceivable opportunity.”

A jolt of pleasure suffuses Jim at the compliment. He doesn’t often receive praise, so what little he does is treasured. 

“Yeah well, it all adds to my mystique,” he says, giving his best smirk.

Spock regards him with an appraising look, his eyes locked with Jim’s. It makes him feel uncomfortable, as though Spock has found another piece of the jigsaw that is James Kirk. Not only found a piece but slotted it into place. Though he’s not sure what piece, exactly, Spock might have discovered. He needs to get the conversation back on track.

He takes the opportunity to break eye contact and avoid Spock’s scrutiny, if only for a second, as he picks up a fry and pops it in his mouth.

When Jim risks a glance back up, he sees that Spock has steepled his hands in front of his face, bringing his chin to rest against his fingers. Jim resolutely avoids looking at his hands. 

“Returning to your query, the essence or living spirit of the Vulcan mind is the katra.” 

“Katra,” Jim says uncertainly, rolling the word around his mouth experimentally. “You mean like a soul?”

Spock takes a few seconds in consideration, head tilted minutely to the side. “I believe that would be an accurate approximation.”

“I didn’t think Vulcans would believe in stuff like that.”

“I see no reason why not. However, you are correct in that originally the existence of the katra was controversial, to say the least. Many Vulcans were skeptical and thought it was nothing more than a myth.” 

“What happened to change their minds?”

A small group of Vulcan’s named the Syrrnanite’s believed in it, and they disseminated their belief to others in both speech and use of the written word. The belief in the katra, whilst not universal at the time, persisted due to their efforts.”

“So they spread the word and eventually everyone got on board with the idea?” 

“Indeed, though not immediately. Eventually, however, the existence of the katra came to the attention of the Vulcan High Command. Once the idea was accepted by the council it soon gained credence amongst the Vulcan people.

“Indeed, legend has it that ancient Vulcan’s used katric arks in which to store the katras. Some of those arks were discovered at the P’Jem monastery centuries earlier.”

Jim asks the next logical question. “What’s an ark?” 

“It is a small crystal-like vessel used to preserve katras after death.”

It’s all very interesting but it’s not really addressing Jim’s main strand of thought. 

“Do these katras just stay in the arks then? Or do Vulcans believe…I don’t know…that sometimes people may get a powerful sensation that their loved one has come back? I don’t mean feeling their presence like an abstract thing. I mean you know…kinda like being haunted?” He cringes a little inside. This is definitely not the best idea he’s ever had, not even close. But he might as well carry on, too late to change track now. 

Spock is watching him carefully, an unreadable expression on his face.

“It is possible that Vulcan’s may sometimes sense a powerful sensation that their deceased loved one is near,” Spock says carefully, his expression indicating his skepticism. “However, I doubt they are being ‘haunted’. In very rare circumstances a katra may be transferred to another person moments before death. But usually the katras remain in the arks.”

Jim leans back in his chair. “You guys really need to show more imagination, because you know the idea of going to heaven sounds _so _much better than being confined to some dusty ark thing for eternity.”__

Spock tilts his head, considering, his mouth quirking slightly at one corner. “You may have a point.”

Jim huffs a soft laugh and raises his glass to his lips to take a sip of water. 

“I appreciate that you have shown and continue to show a great interest in Vulcan history and cultural norms. I am gratified by this.” A faint frown mars Spock’s face, his brows pulled down to meet in the middle. “But may I enquire what prompted you to ask this query? Why a question on such a subject matter?” 

“Why not?”

“In my admittedly limited experience, Humans tend to live in denial of their own mortality, especially young human males who generally seem to consider themselves invincible.”

“Hey, I just happen to be invincible as well as completely awesome,” Jim says with a waggle of his eyebrows.

Spock holds his gaze for a long moment, face impassive. “I could not possibly comment,” he says sardonically. 

Jim lets lose a laugh. He takes another sip of water, the lone ice-cube clinking softly against the side of the glass. He pulls in a breath. 

“Why am I asking? Well, I guess it’s fresh in my mind. I was talking with someone recently and erm…they were saying how they talk with their dead wife. I mean, holding proper conversations with them, like she’s actually come back…and she’s sitting in their house…and everything,” he finishes lamely, embarrassment flooding him. He can feel his cheeks grow warm, and he has the sudden urge to look away from Spock’s scrutiny. But he holds fast and maintains eye contact.

The only response is an eyebrow arched so highly it has disappeared from view.

Jim sucks in a breath, his hand tightening around the glass.

“What do you think? Is it ridiculous? Yeah, yeah I agree with you, it’s utterly ridiculous!” He drops his gaze to his glass, eyes unfocused. “Well, I suppose I can imagine it…” he says softly.

He risks another glance at Spock. The eyebrow has not reappeared from beneath Spock’s bangs.

“So it’s fresh in my mind, and it got me thinking, and I just wondered what Vulcans believed. Well…and erm…like you say, Humans don’t like to look into the blackness beyond death. We can’t bear the thought of losing someone we love. The knowledge that person is there one second and gone the next. That you’ll never see them again, never speak with them again, never hear them laugh again.” He swallows.

A wave of melancholy washes through him, but it crashes and breaks against the knowledge that the darkness, the nothingness, doesn’t necessarily lie in wait, not if Gary can come back real and warm in front of him.

Jim pulls himself back from his contemplation, and forces himself to look Spock in the eye. The Vulcan is regarding him solemnly. He’s not sure what conclusions Spock has reached, but Jim considers he’s drawn enough for one day. 

So he offers Spock a tight, brittle smile. “So what classes do you have next?”

After a brief hesitation and a slow blink, Spock gives a nod and begins talking about a science project he is working on. Jim’s relieved that Spock has agreed to move the conversation on. 

As Spock continues talking, Jim finds himself drifting, soothed by the Vulcan’s low smooth murmur. Slowly he relaxes again. 

A part of him wishes he’d never broached the topic with Spock. Damn it, it was definitely a mistake. He wonders what the Spock thinks of it all. 

But another part of him doesn’t get why people, including Gary, think Vulcans are secretive. Spock has been willing to answer any question Jim has asked so far. Either Vulcans are less private than made out, or his friendship with Spock is going better than even he realized. Warmth floods his chest at this possibility.

He wonders where the taciturn Vulcan that he introduced himself to in the labs has disappeared to. To be replaced with a warm, intelligent, kind and, yeah, funny individual.

“Jim, if you will excuse me, I am required elsewhere,” Spock says, breaking in on his thoughts. “It has been a most pleasant lunch,” a beat “with fascinating conversation. Will you be available later in the week?” 

“Sure, give me a comm and we’ll arrange something.” Jim sends Spock his most brilliant smile in gratitude. Spock’s eyes shine with warmth and his mouth twitches upwards, a gesture that Jim is beginning to think of as Spock smiling.

As Spock leaves Jim feels a fleeting pang of disappointment.

Scotty drops his tray on Jim’s table with a loud clatter. 

“Ya mind if I sit here? There’s nae room anywhere else.” Scotty says, already dropping to his seat without waiting for an answer.

“No, of course not,” Jim says, flashing him a smile.

“Making a new friend are ye?” Scotty says with a nod in the direction of Spock’s departing form.

“Yeah, Spock’s pretty cool.” Jim says non-committedly.

Scotty nods his head. “Why is Uhura giving ye the stink eye?” 

Jim looks over Scotty shoulder to Uhura’s table to find her looking in his direction. He can’t ascertain the truth or not of Scotty’s words, as he can’t make out her expression from this distance. He gives her a wave. She turns away from him. He shrugs his shoulders and turns his attention back to Scotty.

“Beats me, the last time I spoke to her she gave me a hug.”

“She hugged you?” Scotty says, eyes growing wide.

“Yeah I know,” Jim says with a self-depreciating grin, “they must have put something in the water.”

****

Jim stares off into the middle distance, chin resting on his hand, his gaze unfocused. He’s paying scant attention to the lesson, other thoughts swirling around his mind. Differing strands clamor for consideration, chief of which is the conversation with George and the lunch time discussion with Spock.

His chosen topic of conversation with Spock was definitely a mistake. It didn’t really answer any of his questions either. Though Jim no longer doubts his own sanity, it still awes him that Gary has returned just for him. 

Why was Gary able to return? How long is he staying? Is it just Gary or others? Why didn’t his father return for Winona? Gary said something about coming back because he couldn’t bear Jim’s pain. But what about Winona’s pain, barely abated after twenty-four years? A quarter of a century nearly, but the grief only lessens, it never seems to truly leave her.

Maybe that’s why she was absent for so long, because she loved them, but loved his dead father even more. Maybe she’d fled to the stars, searching for what she’d lost.

The only person with the answers is Gary. 

Life is complicated enough, without making it more so. Things should be simple: enjoy being with Gary again, graduate the Academy, and pass the Maru. He forces the questions away, back to the outermost corners of his awareness. _‘Coward,’ _his mind whispers.__

With a soft exhale he drags his focus back to the auditorium and the lecture. 

He skims his gaze over the students in front of him. He spots Chekov slightly ahead and to the left of him. 

At the end of the lesson, Jim shoves his PADD away and makes to catch up with Chekov who is already almost at the door.

“Hey Pavel,” he calls jogging to catch up. Chekov turns with a smile and Jim grins at him in return.

They walk out of the hall onto the main concourse. Chekov appears to be heading towards the dorms and Jim falls into step beside him.

He can see Chekov glance at him from the corner of his eye. 

“It is good to see you well again, to see you happy.”

He favors Chekov with a small smile. “Yeah, it feels good to be back.”

Chekov beams happily at him. They walk in silence, relaxed in each other’s company.

“Ahh,” Chekov mutters beside him. Jim follows his line of sight. Bones is storming towards them, his face a mask of dark fury.

He reaches them. “Look what the ‘fleet in their infinite wisdom, have seen fit to issue me with,” Bones snaps holding up a pair of Starfleet issue boots. “What the goddamn hell are these supposed to be?”

“Erm…boots, Bones,” Jim responds, knowing this is not what his friend means.

Bones glares at him. Jim decides to try again. He looks away from Bones irate visage to the boots held aloft in his friend’s hands. When he scrutinizes them properly they do look a bit small, more like a child’s size. He flicks his gaze down to McCoy’s feet and then up again at the boots gently swaying in front of his face. Yep they’ll never fit Bones.

“Do adults even have feet that small?” 

“Vhy did you order boots too small for you?” He can hear Chekov innocently ask beside him.

“I didn’t order them! Why the goddamn hell would I order boots that don’t fit? I was issued with them.”

“Yes, but Starfleet only issues zhe size that you order. You must hawe made a mistake.” 

Bones glowers at Chekov murderously.

Jim decides to intervene. “Calm down, Bones. You’ll give yourself an aneurism. It’s obviously just a simple mistake. Just go and see Supplies and get the whole thing straightened out.”

“A simple mistake, eh? How the hell am I supposed to trust them to blast me into space in a few short weeks when they can’t even get a boot order right?”

From somewhere deep inside, laughter bubbles up. Jim bites his lip to prevent it escaping. He doubts Bones would appreciate it.

“You are going into space soon?” Chekov interrupts. 

“Yeah, he’s going to Ceti V, vaccination program,” Jim says, sliding a quick glance Chekov’s way.

“I don’t see why I even have to go. I can jab people with hypos just as easily down here.”

“I can certainly vouch for that,” Jim says, rubbing at an imaginary sting on his neck. “I think he gets some kind of sadistic pleasure from it.”

“Only when I jab you with it.”

Chekov turns his attention back to Bones. “Zhere is no need to worry, zhe spaceship vas invented in Russia. Zherefore you are perfectly safe, as safe as a babe in its mother’s arms.” A huge beam of pride imbues Chekov’s face. “We Russians are known for being zhe greatest engineers in the galaxy.”

“Is that a fact?” Bones responds sarcastically.

Chekov nods his head vigorously, blond curls bobbing. “Yes, it is a well-known fact. I am surprised you hawe not heard of zhis.”

Bones gapes at Chekov. Jim marvels at his expression. It’s not often you see Bones speechless. He feels a tiny pang of resentment that Chekov has managed something he’s never been able to.

Finally Bones snaps his mouth shut and manages a response. “That fact must have passed me by, somehow. I can’t think why!

“You Russians may be the greatest engineers in the galaxy,” Bones says in a tone that suggests he’s humoring Chekov, “but you’re certainly no shakes in the design department. For a start why have windows, when there’s no view? Why the hell would I want to see the vacuum of space? There’s only death and disease out there. 

“Also, why are the cabins so small? I’ll be in a tiny broom cupboard somewhere. There’s not enough room to swing a cat in these things. Unfortunately cats are too damn fast for me to prove it…” 

Jim cuts in. “Methinks the lady does protest too much.”

“You’ll be protesting in a minute when I knock you on your ass.”

Jim’s laughter breaks through his self-imposed dam and washes over him like an incoming tide. 

Bones turns his attention back to him. “Why are you laughing like a demented hyena on a sugar rush? It’s not that funny.” 

But Jim can see that Bones is smiling slightly, amusement mixed with his frustration.

“Yes, it is,” Jim responds, still laughing, though he guesses that Bones is right. But it feels good to really laugh for the first time in a long time. It feels good and he doesn’t want to stop.

He reaches out and throws an arm over Bones’ shoulder, hugging his friend close to him. 

He sees Bones slip a sideways glance his way. “You get any closer kid, and we’ll be sharing a uniform,” Bones grouses, but Jim can see that he’s wearing a lop-sided smile.

He laughs again, and pulls Bones even closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was never happy with this chapter, not when I wrote it, and not now. *sighs*


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Jim makes his way to the vast transporter array at the Presidio Headquarters across the bay from the Academy. The sun is just barely kissing the edge of the horizon, streaking the sky with flames of orange and pink, the normally azure waters of the bay lent a rosy tint. The vast glass and steel building looms over him, glinting almost blindingly in the scattered rays of the early evening sun. 

It’s been a long day filled with lectures on Interspecies Ethics and Tactical Analysis and an even longer afternoon filled with a session on First Contact Protocols. He’s weary, and he thinks he can feel the beginnings of a headache forming. He can’t wait to get home and be with Gary, but first he has to see Bones off, as he leaves for Ceti IV. It’s the least he can do. He’ll be gone for three weeks and Jim will miss him, even if he won’t admit to such a thing. 

He turns his gaze upwards with a groan, a hand absentmindedly rubbing at a stiff spot on the back of his neck. Beyond the sweep of cirrus cloud stretching over the copper heavens like a graze, the _USS Inova _lies in wait. Jim wishes she were waiting for him, rather than Bones. Space travel is completely wasted on some people, he thinks with some irritation.__

As he stares up at the sheer cliff face of the imposing structure a wave of dizziness overcomes him and he has to quickly drop his gaze back to ground level. He hurries inside, making his way to the bank of transporter arrays. 

Earlier he’d been over to Bones’ dorm room to help him pack, which in on itself had raised his friend’s suspicions. He’d had his reasons for offering his help though and Jim grins to himself as he thinks of the gift safely tucked away in Bones’ luggage.

He makes his way down the long line of transporters. To his right, groups of people patiently wait their turn to be atomized and sucked up to the vastness of space. To his left are the transporters, some standing mute, some with cadets and officers already dematerializing. He weaves in and out of cadets and Starfleet personnel as they cross from waiting area to transporter.

He spots Cupcake and his entourage of security cadets, waiting in a group for their turn to board a transporter. He catches Hendorff’s eye. Cupcake smirks nastily and Jim feels his own eyes narrow in response. He has the uneasy feeling that hostilities have just restarted.

There are drawbacks to Gary returning after all, Jim muses, chiefly it seems Cupcake renewing his antagonisms. He’d left Jim alone after Gary had died, seemingly respectful for Jim’s grief, proving that even Hendorff is human. Now it seems, thanks to Jim’s more upbeat mood, normal service has resumed. 

He thinks about uttering a smartass comment, but bites his bottom lip hard to keep his mouth closed. If Cupcake and friends are going to the same place as Bones, then he doesn’t want to cause trouble for his friend. Bones can do without the added grief. Instead he keeps moving.

At the next transporter along he finds Bones. Behind him a few other medical cadets are milling and quietly conversing. He recognizes a slim blonde cadet as one of Uhura’s friends. 

Bones is eyeing the transporter pad with some trepidation, and seems oblivious to Jim’s presence. Jim thinks he looks a little green around the gills. He decides some conversation is in order. “What are Cupcake and his knitting circle doing here?”

“Going on some off-world security exercise apparently,” Bones responds, only half of his attention focused on Jim.

“Not going to Ceti IV, then?”

“No, thank God! Relya VII, I think, has the dubious pleasure of their company.” He turns, finally, to give his full awareness to Jim. “Anyway, he mostly ignores me. It’s you he can’t stand.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jim says with a grin. “It’s a real mystery.” 

Bones just rolls his eyes.

But Jim feels better. If Cupcake is stupid enough to start making trouble then he no longer has to bite his tongue. 

“Are you excited about your big adventure then?” Jim says, making sure to give his biggest, brightest grin.

Bones bestows him with a look that could sour milk at forty paces. “What do you think?”

Jim chuckles. “Nervous are we, Bones?”

Bones shoots him a warning glance, before he gives up the pretense that nothing is wrong. He heaves a sigh. “A little bit, I guess,” he says with the air of a man who has just made an admission that has cost him dearly.

Jim reaches out and squeezes McCoy’s bicep in reassurance. “You’ll be fine, Bones.”

“So everyone keeps saying.” Bones’ gaze suddenly slips from Jim to somewhere over his shoulder. Jim stiffens and he knows without looking round that Cupcake has approached.

“Seeing your boyfriend off, then? What…can’t he leave without you holding his hand?” Cupcakes voice comes from somewhere over Jim’s right shoulder. The sneer is clear in his tone.

Jim straightens his spine and pins a smirk to his face before he spins on his heel to face the burly cadet. 

“Aww, what’s wrong _Cupcake, _you jealous that I haven’t come to kiss you goodbye?”__

Cupcake takes a menacing step closer. “You think you’re so witty, don’t you Kirk?”

“Well, certainly more than you. If you had half a wit more, you’d be a half-wit.”

“You have a smart mouth, farm boy. Someone should shut it for you.” 

Jim looks over Cupcake’s shoulder to the other security cadets standing mutely watching the exchange. “You’re going to need more girlfriends first. That sorry lot you’ve got over there don’t look like they’re up to the job.” 

Hendorff takes another step closer, invading Jim’s personal space. Jim doesn’t even blink. 

Without taking his eyes off Cupcake he addresses Bones out the side of his mouth. “Someone please put him out of my misery.”

“It’s you who’s going to be put out of your misery Kirk,” Cupcake growls, moving to loom over him.

Jim’s grateful for the comforting presence of Bones hovering by his shoulder. 

One of the other security cadets approaches Cupcake and tugs on his upper arm. “Leave him Hen, he’s not worth it.”

Jim hears Bones clear his throat, before clearly addressing Cupcake. “This isn’t really the time or place, is it?” 

Cupcake’s gaze flicks quickly to Bones before once again settling on Jim. With one more glare and a disgusted shake of his head, Hendorff allows himself to be pulled away.

Jim turns back to Bones with a grin. “He seems to have lost the plot.”

“You’re assuming he had hold of the plot in the first place.”

“Too true, his IQ is barely above room temperature.” 

Jim’s pleased to see that this raises a small chuckle out of Bones. He warms to his theme. “In fact, he’s so empty he’d shame a vacuum into going on a diet. If brains were explosive he wouldn’t have enough to rattle his ear wax. If he…”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the picture. You wouldn’t be trying to take my mind off a certain impending trip would you?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Jim says, eyes widening in feigned innocence.

The public address system calls Bones’ group to the transporter. The time has come. Jim notices that the color appears to be slowly draining from Bones’ face.

He steps forwards and hugs Bones tightly, who stiffens slightly at the sudden contact. But there’s method in Jim’s madness. He leans closer to Bone’s ear and whispers. “I’ve packed a little something into your bag. It’ll help ease the journey.” 

He pulls away from the hug slightly, but keeps his hands on Bones upper arms while he contemplates him. Keeping his voice low he says, “a little liquid fortitude, if you catch my drift.” He winks. 

Bones perks up a little as he catches Jim’s meaning. “We’ll that’s something, at least. With any luck I might just spend the trip out there in sweet oblivion. Thanks kid.”

“Just don’t barf on anyone.”

“Are you ever going to stop bringing that up?”

“Not in your lifetime. You ruined the only leather jacket to my name. A jacket, I might add, I looked totally hot in.”

“My heart bleeds,” Bones says caustically. 

Jim chuckles. “Be good! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” he says patting Bones on the arm and stepping away.

“Well, in that case, the possibilities are endless!” Bones responds acerbically. Giving a resigned sigh he steps onto the transporter pad, looking far from happy. 

Before he dematerializes he fixes Jim with a stern look. “Try and stay out of trouble. Remember, I won’t be here to patch your senseless ass up.”

****

The heat hits him like an invisible wall as soon as he steps into the hallway. He calls out to let Gary know that he’s home, but there’s no response. Jim frowns. He dials down the heat before dropping his PADD off in the living room. 

He makes his way to the bathroom, shedding clothes as he goes. A nice long shower would be perfect just about now. The only disappointment is Gary not being here to share it with him. Jim knows, however, that wherever Gary has disappeared to, he’ll be back at some point. 

When Gary does finally turn up, Jim resolves that this is the day he’s going to get some answers from him. Answers about why and how he’s returned from the dead and what the future holds for them both; just two of the questions among many others crowding his mind. No more procrastination, he’s going to face it head on.

He steps into the shower stall and turns the water up as hot as he can stand it. The water flows over him, soothing and relaxing aching muscles, the heat sinking into his skin. Contentment runs through him and he closes his eyes and turns his face to the spray, humming softly. He reaches for the soap and applies himself to removing the detritus of the day from his skin.

His thoughts turn to the Maru. Time really he got a move on with it. He’s had to step carefully for fear of raising Spock’s suspicions, but he feels as he’s earned Spock’s trust; he can push a little further. But he also values the friendship he and Spock are building. It’d be good to have another friend like Bones. Is it really necessary to risk that? Actually thinking about it, there’s probably very little more he can glean from Spock. 

He does need information, however. He can’t change the parameters of the test if he doesn’t know where the program’s weaknesses lie. Ideally he needs to have sight of the code himself. Maybe it’s time he considered an option B. 

He puts his head beneath the cascading water to rinse the shampoo from his hair. He turns the temperature down a notch and just lets the soothing water run over his skin. He lets his mind drift, eyes closed.

Which scenario would be most impressive? He could re-program the test to make it think he’s so respected in battle that the simulation’s adversaries instantly surrender. That he has to concede would play to his ego. Or he could eliminate the attacking Klingon vessels’ shields and render them susceptible to a single photon torpedo. But until he sees the program and knows where to attack it, he can’t really refine his plans.

He’s sure though that they’ll give him a commendation. After all, his plans have the virtue of never being tried before. He’ll be the first. That must count for something. 

He would settle for a commendation, maybe a plaque. Maybe… 

Suddenly there’s a loud bang against the door of the shower stall and Jim jumps in surprise, his heart pounding.

“What the…!” He turns to glare at Gary through the misty glass. “Don’t do that!”

“Is this a bad time?” Gary says, his expression anything but apologetic.

“It is if you’re going to keep pulling that trick.”

Gary pouts. “I thought you’d be pleased to see me.”

“I’m always pleased to see you. Just stop trying to give me a heart attack.”

Jim opens the shower door and steps out. Warm steam heavy with the fragrance of shampoo billows out with him. 

He smiles warmly at Gary, pleased to see him again. 

He decides to follow through on his original plan. “Why don’t we take a shower together?” 

“But you’ve only just got out.”

Jim moves towards him, and reaches to slip Gary’s jacket from his shoulders. “I can get back in again,” he says, his tone seductive. 

To his surprise and puzzlement Gary doesn’t seem as keen as Jim would like. Instead, he gently grabs hold of Jim’s hands to stop their progress.

“Oh, come on, don’t be coy. I’ve seen you naked before…many times as I recall,” Jim says with his best leer.

“You have a one-track mind.” 

“I never heard you complaining.”

Gary manages a small smirk. “That’s because I didn’t.” He closes the distance between them and pulls Jim into an embrace. But Jim has barely time to relax into the hug before Gary is pulling away. He moves back a pace, out of reach.

Jim is left standing alone. Beads of water tumble and slip over his skin, and slowly drip to the floor.

“Sorry, but I don’t feel very well.” Gary is saying, his tone apologetic. “I feel like I’m coming down with a nasty cold. I think I may just barf, too. My stomach feels really bad.” He rubs a hand over the area, before pulling his jacket tighter around himself. “I just feel really, really cold.” As if to illustrate the fact he sneezes. 

Jim gives it one last try. “I can keep you warm.”

“I know you can babe. But I don’t want you to catch whatever nasty bug I’ve got.” 

Much to Jim’s frustration, Gary moves further away, towards the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get dressed.”

He opens the door, and Jim can hear music and talking in the background, the sound softly drifting on the still air into the room.

“Is the holo-vid on?” Jim asks frowning. If Gary just wants to sit and watch movies or something then that’s disappointing sure, but he can go with that.

Gary suddenly looks sheepish. He ducks his head and contemplates his foot brushing against the tiled floor. “Ah…yes.”

Jim can feel a frown forming. There’s something Gary’s not telling him.

“Listen Jim, don’t get upset, but some of the guys wanted to come back, and you know, drink a few beers, watch some holo-vids, chill out.”

“What guys?”

Gary shrugs his shoulders, still not quite meeting Jim’s eye. “It’s just a few friends.”

“Are these dead friends?”

Gary still doesn’t make eye contact with Jim. “I suppose so, yes.”

“Are you telling me there are dead people in our living room watching holos?”

Gary shrugs again.

Jim deflates. “Aren’t these movies available wherever these…dead guys…usually are?”

Gary bristles, looking up finally to make eye contact with Jim. “Are you going to make an issue of it? You have Len and the others over. I’m stuck in here all day, while you’re out meeting people and carrying on as normal. I don’t think it’s unreasonable for me to have friends visit. Look if it’s a problem…I’ll send them away.”

Jim feels guilt blossom in his chest, as he can’t deny that Gary does have a point. Jim himself has worried about him being alone all day whilst he’s at the Academy. With an internal sigh at his plans being waylaid he says, “No, no it’s fine, it’s absolutely fine.”

“I’d forgotten you could be like this.”

“Like what?” Jim says with a frown.

“It doesn’t matter,” Gary mutters, gaze sliding away.

Jim softens his tone, attempting to mollify the other man. “I said its fine. Why don’t you go and keep our guests company and if you give me a minute I’ll throw on some clothes and come join you.”

Gary turns his gaze back to him, his dark eyes assessing. Jim looks squarely back, letting his sincerity show. 

“Great,” Gary enthuses. He gives Jim a warm smile before leaving the room. Though it could be his imagination, Jim thinks the smile is not quite reflected in Gary’s eyes. There’s a shadow of something… something bittersweet, but it’s gone before Jim can properly identify it.

He looks down at the puddle he’s creating on the floor. Deflated, he dries himself quickly and pulls on an old t-shirt and sweatpants, then briefly mops the damp floor with a towel. 

He tries to push his frustration aside as he pads softly on bare feet to the living room.

Gary and two others are watching what appears to be an early 20th century feature. It flickers, grainy black and white and silent in the room. 

Gary notices him and ushers Jim forward to meet their visitors. He introduces them as Ezra and Mark.

“This is Jim,” Gary says, pride evident in his voice and expression as he grins at him. 

The warmth of his gaze creeps under Jim’s skin and he’s completely disarmed, yet again. Damn Gary and his ability to do this. With an internal shrug Jim let’s go of the last of his disappointment. He’ll ask his questions another day, it can keep for now. 

He bestows Gary with a blinding grin, before turning his attention instead to being a good host. “Can I get you guys anything?” 

“Well, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble…maybe we could get a few blankets or something? It’s a little cold in here,” the one called Ezra says hesitantly, rubbing his arms as if to ward off a chill. 

Jim mentally rolls his eyes. He should have guessed. “No problem, I’ll just be a few minutes.”

He turns to leave.

“Oh, could you grab a few more beers from the fridge on your way back? Thanks,” Gary calls out. 

He spends much of the rest of the evening playing nurse to Gary and host to Gary’s guests. 

After fetching many drinks, various foods and other sundries, it culminates in…“Cheesecake? Do you really think that’s a good idea on a bad stomach?”

Gary pouts and puts on his kicked puppy dog expression. Jim gets up and goes to fetch a slice of cheesecake. 

Finally, after watching at least two movies and listening to endless arguments and discussion of their merits and shortcomings he ends his evening lying on top of Gary on the sofa, his eyes slipping closed as Gary cards a hand through his hair.

He awakes disorientated and groggy with sleep. He looks bleary eyed at the chronometer, its 05:00 hours. He squeezes his eyes shut, opens them again, blinks and tries to focus.

Early watery sunlight is trying to creep through the slats in the blinds. On the holo-vid Pinocchio is just skipping off to school. 

He sits up and looks down at Gary sleepily. Gary softly rubs his thumb down Jim’s cheek and smiles apologetically. “Morning.”

Sleep still creeps at the corners of Jim’s mind. “Morning. I’m going to have to go to bed, I’m beat.” He gives Gary a brief kiss and then he struggles up and over the back of the sofa and is on his feet, where he sways slightly. 

A chorus of ‘goodnight’s’ ring out from Ezra and Mark their attention still captured by the holo-vid.

Jim heads to the bedroom. His body is tired and stiff, and at this moment feels older than its twenty-four years. It’s as if he’d never slept at all.

He brushes his teeth and empties his bladder, and then goes to bed. Dawn continues to break behind the blinds.

Wonderfully cool moist air from the damp street outside spills over the sill of the slightly ajar window and gently wafts over his over-heated body, bringing with it the earthy aroma of damp soil, and a hint of the sweet lemony scent of late flowering magnolia. It’s bliss.

He slowly drifts into a restless slumber, his mind caught between wakefulness and sleep.

Finally, the bed dips as Gary climbs in behind him. The duvet is pulled up to cover them both, cutting off the mild currents of deliciously cool air that have been softly caressing his skin. Jim groans. “Gary, it’s too hot!”

“It’s not that hot. In fact, do we still have that heat pad?”

“What! You can’t be serious. I’m suffocating.”

“Sorry Jim, but I really don’t feel well.” A beat. “I might catch my death.”

“You’re already dead!”

“Details, details,” Gary murmurs drowsily.

Silence. Jim closes his eyes and tries again to slip back into sleep, even though the sheets beneath him are saturated. He moves a leg out from under the duvet, that way at least one part of his body can be cool. 

Gary drapes an arm over him, and possessively pulls him close. His soft, even breath tickles the back of Jim’s neck.

“You smell good,” Gary suddenly states, inhaling deeply at Jim’s hair.

“Hmm,” Jim murmurs.

“The guys are nice, aren’t they?”

“Mmm,” responds Jim, his tone non-committal, hoping against hope that Gary will just shut the hell up.

“Great guys,” enthuses Gary.

With an internal groan of dismay Jim realizes that he’s not going to get the sleep he’s hoping for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you for the kudos and bookmarks, and to those continuing to read the story. Don't forget, you can leave a comment if you wish. I love to hear from you from time to time :)


	18. Chapter Seventeen

The frail looking elderly couple sitting a few tables over are conversing quietly, hands clasped across their small table. They have yet to break eye contact with each other for any significant length of time. The man, tall and thin and wheezy of chest, leans across to his companion and murmurs something which causes her to laugh quietly. 

As Jim watches the scene a dull ache begins to form in his chest and he has to look away. In this instant he feels utterly alone, hyper aware of the empty chair opposite him. With a shake of his head he pushes the strange constricting feeling aside. What he has with Gary at present is better than nothing, more than he ever thought possible. 

Anyway, the chair won’t be empty long. Spock will arrive soon. The thought makes Jim smile.

Feeling strangely uplifted he takes in his surroundings. He can see how The Coffee Garden got its name. A cornucopia of plants claim the back yard of the café, tables dotted among them. The scent of flowers is heady and cloying in the air. The peppery scent of Sweet William mingles with the sweet citrusy aroma of Honeysuckle. Snapdragons cluster in a profusion of colors and Ivy scrambles up the café’s back wall. 

At the far end of the yard, Wisteria coils itself over an arch and beyond he can glimpse the soft azure waters of the bay sparkling in the midday sun. 

Apart from himself and the couple the only other customer is a young auburn-haired woman. The cotton sleeves of her dress flutter against her sun-kissed arms as she mashes food in a small bowl for the plump rosy-cheeked child sat in the high chair next to her. 

He turns his attention back to his lunch. A flame grilled burger bursting with cheese, mushrooms and bacon, and a side order of fries. It’s succulent and full of flavor and oh so much better than anything a replicator could produce. It’s just what the doctor ordered. Or maybe not, which is why Jim is grateful that Bones is twelve light years away. From Tau Ceti he can’t nag him about the caffeine and cholesterol content of the meal sitting in front of him. 

As he raises his cup to his lips he glances at the vacant seat opposite and he hopes Spock won’t be long. It’s unlike the Vulcan not to be punctual. He takes a sip of the double espresso, the strong rich flavor bursting over his tongue. He gives a small sigh of satisfaction, savoring the taste.

Instinctively he looks up, and watches as Spock approaches with measured steps across the yard. Something inside his chest does a strange little flip. It’s a little disconcerting, but Jim brushes the weird sensation aside as he gives Spock a grin.

“Greetings Jim,” Spock says as he takes the seat opposite, thankfully blocking his view of the love-struck couple.

“Hey, Spock,” he says, genuinely pleased to see him.

Spock tilts his head minutely in a small nod and holds Jim’s gaze, contrition written in his expression. “I wish to extend my apologies regarding my tardiness. I was unfortunately detained at the Academy.” 

Jim raises an eyebrow in surprise. “The Academy? I didn’t think you were there today.”

“Indeed. I was not scheduled to attend. However there was a problem with the latest trial run of the upgrades for the Kobayashi Maru.”

Elation thrums through Jim at Spock’s words, unable to believe his luck that Spock has raised the subject. 

“Oh,” Jim says nonchalantly, “nothing too serious I hope?” 

“Fortunately not. It transpires the error was minor and once identified the matter was speedily rectified.”

A waiter brings Spock a bowl of fruit and a glass cup of softly swirling golden fluid which Jim assumes is tea. As Spock thanks the man in low tones, Jim tries to marshal his thoughts; this is his chance to glean further information on the upgrades.

Lost in thought Jim watches as Spock lifts the cup of golden hued liquid to his lips and he finds himself following the Vulcan’s movements, unable to look away. His gaze stalls on the soft curve of Spock’s lips, before flicking to the faint shadow of stubble sweeping the strong line of his jaw.

Perturbed, he forces himself to look away, his stare falling on another customer who has entered the back yard of the café and taken a seat at a nearby table. A customer wearing salmon colored trousers, a blue check shirt, a black jacket and red boots with yellow laces. 

“Hmm, interesting wardrobe choice,” Jim murmurs. 

He turns back to Spock, to find himself the subject of an appraising look, an eyebrow elegantly raised.

Jim can feel his cheeks flushing, but he brazens it out. He meets Spock’s gaze and raises his own eyebrow. Spock’s lips twitch upwards and his eyes twinkle. Jim quirks his own mouth into a cocky grin, before dropping his eyes to his plate, his heart beating a little faster. He picks up a fry and pops it in his mouth. 

He feigns interest in his food for a few more minutes, until he feels that he’s no longer the subject of Spock’s scrutiny. _‘Get a grip Kirk,’ _he reprimands silently.__

He forces himself to look back at Spock. Fortunately the Vulcan is engrossed with piercing a piece of citrus fruit with his fork. 

Jim turns back to the subject at hand. “So, the Maru. Anything I can help you with? I’m not too shabby when it comes to computer code.” 

He’s good at hacking programs. Sometimes it’s as simple as entering or changing just one character in a line of code. He had once emptied countless credit accounts with that trick, just to see if it could be done.

“You have not been assigned to the upgrade.” 

“Yeah, I know that. But if you ever need a hand or someone to bounce ideas off, then don’t hesitate. I’ll be glad to help.”

Spock tilts his head slightly, observing Jim quietly for long seconds. “I will keep your offer in mind. However, I doubt it will be necessary as fortunately the project remains on schedule.”

“You’ve nearly finished then?” Jim says keeping his tone casual.

“Yes in approximately two weeks the project will be completed with just the final trial runs to conduct.” Spock throws him a sharp, considering look. “Why do you ask?”

He has to tread carefully. Spock’s intelligent and not as naïve about humanity has he pretends to be. He’s gotten to know Spock well over the last couple of months or so, but it’s a two way street and Spock’s gotten to know him well, too. Spock has told him enough anyway. Thanks to the Vulcan he now knows that it’s a major upgrade, that it’s nearly completed, and that at least one other cadet that Jim knows is working on it.

He thinks quickly. “No reason. Just that…once you’ve finished, it means you have more free time.” He grins cheekily at Spock. “More free time you can spend with me.”

Spock’s dark eyes widen almost imperceptibly at that, his surprise evident. Yet Jim thinks he can also detect warmth in their dark depths. “That would indeed be most welcome,” Spock says softly.

There’s another strange lurch in Jim’s chest, as though a heartbeat was skipped, and he drops his gaze to take a sip of his rapidly cooling coffee. But he can feel the grin stretching his face as he lifts the cup to his lips. 

They spend an enjoyable lunch together, making pleasing small talk about everything and nothing. 

An enjoyable lunch until the child in the high chair starts to cry before suddenly releasing an ear-splitting scream. The scream is high pitched, the kind of high pitched scream of which only very young children are capable. It verges on painful and makes Jim’s ears ring. He hates to think how it is for Spock with the Vulcan’s more sensitive hearing. He winces. “You finished? Shall we go?” 

“Indeed,” Spock agrees, eyes darting sideways at the fractious child, “I believe that is an excellent suggestion.”

Back on the sidewalk outside the café, they hesitate. Neither seems ready for the day to end. 

Before Jim can analyze it too much the words fall from his mouth. “Hey, do you fancy a trip to the beach? We could catch a transport.” 

“I would not be adverse to such a trip,” Spock says, his shoulders relaxing minutely. “It is too pleasant a day to waste indoors. However, I would prefer to walk. Do you mind?”

“No, not at all.”

They walk in companionable silence along paths Jim has walked before with Gary. Surprisingly, the day is clear and warm with just a few wispy clouds in an otherwise brilliant blue sky. Because of the latitude of the city, the local beaches are often chilly and overcast, the summer fog helping to create cool damp conditions. Today is an exception it would seem. 

They reach the beach. As expected on such a bright summer’s day it’s heaving with humanity. People chatting and sun-bathing, some walking their dogs. Laughing children chase each other at the waters’ edge. In unspoken agreement they walk parallel to the shore along the sidewalk, in search of a section of sand without the press of bodies. 

Eventually the people thin out and nearly empty sand stretches out before them in a sweeping arc, only a thin strip of tide pools separating them from it. 

Jim clambers over the slippery rocks making for the soft golden shore. He reaches his goal when he realizes that Spock is no longer by his side.

He turns to find the Vulcan bent over a seaweed covered rock, staring down with rapt attention into the small hollow of ocean trapped there. Warm affection washes through him as he watches Spock move about the rocks, inquisitiveness clearly evident in his expression. 

Jim crouches over one of the shallow depressions, curious as to what has fascinated his friend so. All he can see is a bright red sea star, and a couple of greenish-blue sea anemones, tentacles swaying gracefully in the water. He lowers his hand into the shallow rivulet of water, disturbs their environment. They don’t react. Mildly diverting, but hardly earth-shattering. He straightens and turns to continue watching Spock instead.

They spend a while investigating the pools, treading carefully over the slick rocks. Jim feigns interest but finds his awareness constantly drifting back to Spock. He finds himself mesmerized, unable to drag his gaze away. A part of his brain appreciates the supple ease of Spock’s movements. He is poised and elegant. As he drinks in Spock’s lithe form, there’s a jolt as realization hits him. He’s attracted to the Vulcan. He swallows hard. Damn.

With some difficulty he pulls his eyes away from the inquisitive Vulcan to look out over the sparkling ocean. 

So what if he finds Spock attractive? Big deal! It’s nothing to worry about. Gaila’s attractive, Uhura too. He finds lots of people attractive. Even Bones has a certain rugged appeal. It doesn’t mean anything, doesn’t change anything. And because it doesn’t mean anything, he forces the revelation from his thoughts, lets it slip below to his subconscious.

“Are you going to be much longer?” 

“One moment,” Spock replies, still crouched over the rocks. 

Jim nods and walks away towards the golden sand, putting a little distance between them and the recognition of what is causing him to feel discombobulated in the Vulcan’s presence. 

All is relatively peaceful. The quiet punctuated only by the low calming noise of waves gently lapping on the shoreline and the distant sounds of bustling humanity further down the beach. A dog barks in the distance, and a couple of Western Gulls caw and bicker as they sweep their shadows over the sand. 

The air is so pristine and sharp that Jim pulls in a great lungful, and then lets it out is a long soft exhale. The day is suffused in the scent of sea air, clean and salty.

He flops down on the ground and waits for Spock to join him. Leaning forwards, he rolls the bottom of his jeans up before removing his sneakers and socks. The sand feels warm and gritty between his toes. 

It’s so peaceful here. It reminds him of the cornfields of his childhood. They were often his sanctuary. A place to which he could escape the latest torrent of verbal abuse from Frank by hightailing it alone down to the gently swaying stalks of corn. For a few precious minutes he would find shelter, their peace a sharp contrast to the incessant screaming and swearing of the man who was making his life a misery.

A shadow falls over him. Jim uses his hand to shade his eyes from the sun as he gazes up at Spock’s silhouette. “Find anything interesting?”

“Indeed.” Spock says. “There are various echinoderms belonging to the class Asteroida and some fascinating examples of Anthopleura. Furthermore, there was a fine example of Metacarcinus that I am unfortunately unfamiliar with.” 

Jim ducks his head to hide his amusement and silently translates Spock’s words to plainer standard.

When he looks back up, Spock is still looming over him. “Are you going to stand there all day?”

Spock hesitates for only a fraction of a second before gingerly sinking down to sit next to him.

Jim slides his gaze sideways to see Spock sitting rather stiffly beside him. He bites his bottom lip to hide the smile that is threatening to escape. So Gary’s not the only one with an aversion to the beach.

He looks down at his wriggling toes and quietly contemplates the sand. Gary never liked the sand. He didn’t like how it got everywhere, how it felt against his skin. He would sit on the beach in sufferance, for Jim’s benefit only, which Jim always thought was a little strange considering that in everything else Gary was so messy, carefree and fun-loving.

He closes his eyes and the memories sketch themselves across the backdrop of his mind.

_Jim leans his weight against the cold metal railings and looks out over the golden stretch of shoreline. He glances at Gary from the corner of his eye._

_“Let’s go sit on the beach.”_

_Gary looks aghast “On the beach? But it’s sandy.”_

_“Erm, yeah, beaches usually are,” Jim says with laugh._

_Gary glares at him. “The damn stuff gets everywhere.”_

_Jim smiles fondly at him and rolls his eyes. “We don’t have to sit directly on it. That’s why I’ve brought the blanket.”_

_Gary eyes the coverlet tucked in the straps of Jim’s back-pack. He heaves a dramatic sigh. “Okay, but only because it’s you. I wouldn’t do this for just anyone I hope you realize.”_

_Jim grins. “Yeah, I know. That’s why you’re so awesome.”_

_Gary turns towards him and grins._

Jim again is struck with the sudden desire to go back in time and fix things, prevent Gary leaving. It feels a little like betrayal to sit here without him.

He feels the sun’s warm embrace on his cheek and his inner eyelids flame scarlet. He opens his eyes and blinks against the blinding splinters of sunlight.

Spock is a dark outline beside him. He peers up at him, squinting against the sun, embarrassed out of his contemplation. It’s hard to read Spock’s expression when his face is shadowed by the bright sunlight, but Jim can sense his scrutiny.

Jim shoots a playful grin at Spock and on impulse jumps up and runs towards the water. He feels Spock follow him with his eyes.

He runs to the edge of the water, stops and then slowly wades in. He draws a breath in quickly as he feels the frigid water rush in over his feet. He illogically hopes the icy brine will cleanse the discomforting taint of duplicity from his skin.

He takes a deep breath and looks out towards the horizon. The ocean lies like smooth blue satin, calm and flat. Soft light falls languorously over the water.

_“Isn’t this great?” Jim enthuses._

_Gary grunts and glares at him._

_Jim feels mischief bubble. “Hey, why don’t we camp out here, we can lie back and look at the stars.”_

_Gary looks at him as if he’s crazy. “Have you lost your mind? I’m not sleeping out here.”_

_“But it’ll be sooo romantic,” Jim says in a sing-song voice._

_“It’ll be sooo dark and freezing you mean.”_

_Jim chuckles. But he can see that Gary is restless and disgruntled. “Come on. Race you.”_

_They run out across the sand, Jim heading for the waves kissing the shore._

_He braces himself before running into the chilly surf, Gary at his heels. The Pacific is blue colored ice, making him shiver and the ground beneath his feet oozes wet and cold between his toes._

_He teases Gary, daring the other man to catch him, edging tantalizingly closer and then swerving out of reach at the last moment._

_Gary shakes his head, half frustrated, half amused by Jim’s antics. Jim laughs, his happiness threatening to burst out of him._

He shakes the memory away and turns to find that Spock has walked down the beach to join him and is standing just a few feet shy of the water. The Vulcan is looking at him quizzically.

Jim decides to head off any query that Spock might make. “Don’t you want to join me? The water’s not too cold.”

“I believe your statement lacks candor,” Spock says, eyeing the water with distaste, an almost imperceptible shudder running through his lean frame.

“Afraid of a little water?” Jim teases.

“I have no desire to be both wet and cold if that is your meaning,” Spock responds, raising a skeptical brow.

Jim laughs, and immediately resolves that one day, though he’s not sure how, he’ll get Spock in water. 

He remembers something Spock said the first time they met. “Tell me more about the Voroth Sea. What’s it like? Have you been there?” 

There’s a brief pause and a slow blink as Spock considers his response. “We visited the Voroth Sea a number of times when I was very young. My parents had a vacation home there.” 

“I bet it isn’t as cold as the Pacific.” Jim gives a slight shudder and steps back on to dry land.

Spock watches him leave the water and his lips twitch upwards. “Indeed, it is warm by Earth standards. There are various reasons for this, but it is in part due to the core temperature and weather systems of the planet, and also to the seas close proximity to the Fire Plains which contain three active volcanoes.”

Spock folds his hands behind his back as they make their way across the beach (stopping only to collect Jim’s discarded footwear) and Jim rolls his eyes affectionately as he recognizes the Vulcan fall into lecture mode.

“The Voroth Sea lies in the province of Raal. It is fifty-six miles long and twenty miles wide at its widest point. It has a maximum depth of 7,400 feet. It is by any measure an insignificant body of water by your planets standards. It is however, 10.5 times as salty as any on Earth, due to the high rate of evaporation and the lack of meaningful precipitation.” 

Spock shoots a lightening glance in Jim’s direction. “Regrettably this salinity prevents aquatic organisms such as fish and plants from being able to survive in it, other than infinitesimal quantities of bacteria.”

“Hmm, the Fire Plains sound awesome, but otherwise there doesn’t seem like there’s much to do there.”

“On the contrary, there is much one can do. One can read, spend time in relaxation or consume what my mother terms a picnic.” Spock glances down the beach but his gaze is directed inward. “I spent much time exploring. I would collect rock samples and would often dig A’Kweth and Hayalit from their burrows, and take what I found to show my parents.”

“No running or building forts or burying your dad in the sand then?” 

An eye-brow flares upwards. “Why would I do such an irrational thing?”

“Well, you know, having fun and such.”

“Surely a vacation is a time of rest, to cease using energy. It is quite illogical to run up and down using energy instead of conserving it.”

Jim laughs. “Well sometimes you have to expand a little energy in order to have fun.” 

Spock’s brow crinkles in puzzlement.

“My brother and I once decided to tunnel our way through the connecting wall into each other’s bedroom, and that required a lot of energy I can tell you.”

“Would it not have been more logical not to say efficient to simply use the internal doors. Or am I to assume your childhood dwelling had no such resource.”

Jim chuckles. “Yeah, of course we had doors. But where’s the fun in that?”

“I fail to understand how such an activity constitutes fun.” 

“You just need a little imagination. Not that I’m saying you don’t have any, but human children tend to have a lot of that quality.” He gives a shrug. “I guess we pictured ourselves as engineers, or pirates or something. To be truthful I can’t remember the reasons, but I do clearly remember trying to tunnel through.” He shoots a sideways glance at Spock. “I suppose we wanted to see how thick the wall was, see if it could be done. It got rid of some of the boredom at bedtime.” 

“And how far did you manage to ‘tunnel’?”

“Not very far. I did however manage to bring down quite a bit of plaster from the wall. Sam too, on the other side.” He shrugs ruefully. “It was an old farmhouse.”

“I see. Fascinating,” Spock says, his dark eyes focused intently on Jim. 

A rush of warm emotion suffuses him.

“I would envisage that this activity did not find favor with your mother.” 

“Yeah, Winona wasn’t best pleased with our efforts to demolish our home it has to be said.” He smiles softly at the memory.

“Human children are highly illogical,” Spock intones, humor evident in his voice.

Jim laughs.

He turns his head towards the water. The light has softened with the waning of the day; the water lent a pinkish tint. He offers Spock an apologetic smile. “Sorry Spock, I have to get going. It’s been a really great day, but I have to be somewhere else.”

“As do I, but it has indeed been most satisfying.”

“Comm me later in the week?” Jim asks. 

“Of course.”

Jim can feel his smile widen in response. In mutual agreement they make their way across the sand, towards the sidewalk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all who have given comments and kudos and who have bookmarked the story :) It's appreciated. Thanks also to my beta, for her patience and everything else. Betas rock!


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to all who left kudos :) Thanks for continuing to read.

Summer drifts on, the weeks sliding by almost imperceptibly.

Jim stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket. It’s late July but as usual for San Francisco the fog has rolled in paste thick to blanket the city. It’s not exactly cold, but the air is cool and damp against his skin. 

He looks down the street as far as visibility will allow. Light spills, cozy and inviting, from nearby windows onto the gloomy sidewalk. He feels oddly conspicuous standing here, quietly waiting, even though the mist cloaks him.

Spock had offered to meet him at his home, but Jim had declined the offer for obvious reasons. At the thought of Spock he can feel a sense of jittery anticipation pulse through him. He grins to himself as he digs his PADD out of his pocket and checks Spock’s message again for the third time in as many minutes. 

His grin slowly fades as the knowledge of his attraction to Spock causes a ripple of guilt to pool in his stomach, as if he’s being unfaithful merely by being Spock’s friend. He feels a little torn, but he determinedly pushes the feeling aside.

There’s a part of him which still thinks he should be home with Gary. But doing what with Gary? For the last few weeks, (since movie night), much of Gary’s time has been spent with his deceased friends, who seem to have virtually taken up residence in their home. It makes Jim almost nostalgic for the rats. He can sense the breach forming between them, a slow drifting apart, and he feels powerless to stop it. It makes him sad. The very idea of losing Gary again causes a pit of cold fear to pool in his stomach.

_You’re not powerless, _he reminds himself, _you’re James Kirk, you don’t believe in no-win scenarios. _He should do something about this. Do something to try and stop the fissure growing wider. It’s just that at present he’s not sure how to go about it.____

He’s pulled from his reverie by Spock approaching out of the gloom, and a smile tugs at Jim’s lips at the sight of him.

“Greetings, Jim.” 

“Morning, Spock.”

Spock is dressed warmly in dark coat and woolen hat. Though he gives no indication he is suffering any discomfort, Jim has the sudden and inexplicable urge to adjust Spock’s coat collar, to pull it up more tightly around his chin, to guard against the chill of the fog. His hand twitches with the effort of resisting the impulse. Where has the desire come from? You never touch a Vulcan, never. Even if Spock would allow the gesture, it’s still clearly inappropriate. He’d never adjust Bones’ collar. 

Spock is speaking, pulling him out of his contemplation. 

“I had made plans for a picnic, as my message this morning informed you.” He frowns slightly. “However, considering the inclement conditions I am unsure why you requested I still bring the provisions with me.”

Jim mentally smiles at Spock’s long-winded sentences. “I asked you to bring them with you as I think we can still have the picnic.” He looks around at the gray shadows, speckled with diffused silvery white patches from the street lights, and gives a shrug as he turns back to Spock. “Sure, at this level the fog’s pretty thick, but I think it’s fairly low lying so we should be able to get above it.” He flashes a grin. “It’ll be a whole new perspective on the world.”

“I had not considered that. Your idea may well have merit,” says Spock, indicating that Jim should walk beside him. “Shall we?”

They catch a transport towards the Marin Headlands, and then ascend the short distance to the summit of Slacker Hill. 

They sit down amidst the wildflowers. The sky above is a clear cobalt blue, the sun approaching its zenith. It’s pleasantly warm though a little breezy above the haze and it promises to be a lovely summer’s day, once the fog has burnt away. 

Beneath them dark waves of thick fog crash through the bay and over the city, while pale wisps of silvery vapor filter through the cables of the bridge. Only the muted outlines of the highest buildings peek through the undulating sea of mist. The sounds drifting up from the city are muffled and to Jim it feels like a barrier between him and the world, separating him from his other life below. 

After a while, bored with watching the fog, Jim’s new hobby of Spock watching asserts itself and his gaze slides to the elegantly pointed tip of one ear, and halts there. He can’t seem to drag his eyes away, mesmerized by the pale green sheen as light passes through the delicate membranes. He can distantly hear Spock say something.

“Hmm, er…sorry Spock I was miles away,” he says with some embarrassment.

Spock glances down at the small gap between them and quirks an eyebrow, dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “Miles? You are in fact seated approximately thirteen inches away.”

“So, I’m a little out. What are a few inches between friends?” he says, his tone teasing, his surroundings forgotten.

Spock’s lips twitch in what Jim has come to interpret as a smile. “I see. Are all Humans prone to such imprecision where measurements are concerned?”

“No. But where _inches _are concerned _some _Human men can feel the need to over-estimate.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Not something that I have to worry about, of course.”____

A faint green tint blooms across Spock’s cheeks and the Vulcan quickly glances away. Jim barks a laugh. Is Spock blushing? He decides that he definitely has to instigate that reaction again.

Taking pity on his friend he lets up on the banter. “What were you saying, anyway? When I was _inches _away?”__

Spock turns back to him. “I said that you are correct. It is indeed a whole new perspective. I had not considered viewing the city from this vantage point before.” 

“I told you,” Jim says with a self-satisfied smirk.

“If, of course, there was a view to admire,” Spock remarks dryly. 

“Now you’re just being picky.”

“Hardly,” Spock says, good humor evident in his voice.

Jim chuckles and turns back to watching the mist swirl beneath them as it boils and churns through the Bay. 

Eventually he helps Spock to spread a blanket on the ground and unpack the picnic. All vegetarian of course, but Jim doesn’t mind. There’s a generous selection of fruit, salads, roasted squash, coleslaw, fresh bread and cookies. There’s bottled water and fruit juice to drink.

“I bet you can see for miles on Vulcan.” 

“Visibility is indeed very good but that is to be expected considering Vulcan has very little water in the atmosphere. Before arriving here I had little experience with this meteorological phenomenon.” 

Jim knows that he’s beaming widely at the Vulcan. 

Spock tilts his head, his expression quizzical. “Is not fog just a collection of water droplets or ice crystals suspended in the air at or near the Earth’s surface?”

“It sure is!” Jim says, fondness for his friend warming his chest.

The Vulcans brows furrow a little in bewilderment. 

“Just…don’t ever change Spock. You’re totally awesome as you are.”

“There are not many who would agree with your assessment.”

Jim hesitates, this is his chance to discover more about Spock but instinct tells him to tread carefully.

“Who wouldn’t agree? Humans or other Vulcans?” he asks trying to keep his tone casual before taking a large bite of apple.

“Many Vulcans would not, as indeed many of my peers were quick to elucidate when I was growing up,” Spock says softly, glancing away. 

“Because you’re different?” Jim asks quietly. “Because you have a Human mother?” 

“Indeed.”

“I thought Vulcan’s were supposed to be more tolerant. IDIC and all that.” 

“That is the theory; however as with all sentient creatures theory and practice are often widely divergent. I was not considered the same as other Vulcans.”

“In what ways?”

“In many ways. For instance Vulcan’s have already learnt to control their emotions before they are old enough to begin their formal education.” 

“Except you,” Jim says instinctively and knows he’s right.

Spock’s back stiffens and his expression becomes inscrutable. 

“You are correct, I lacked the necessary control. Even though I was young I displayed too much emotion. It was unseemly behavior, especially in a public environment.” His voice drops even quieter. “I received censure for it.

“As I grew I learnt how to control my emotions. Indeed I learned to suppress them more thoroughly than any full Vulcan. Over time I discontinued all public displays of affection and spurned such gestures from my mother. Of course I permitted her some small expressions of her regard in private, such as a kiss on the cheek or a squeeze of a hand. I believe she understood, and as always she took my decision with composure.” 

For a moment he is silent. “But I realize however that I must have caused her pain. I understand it is not how a Human mother would wish to relate towards her own child.”

Spock busies himself with twisting open a bottle of water, evidently not wanting to say anything further. Jim understands, but thinks it’s sad, for both of them. Though Spock doesn’t speak of any sadness or indeed the love he obviously feels for his mother, Jim hears it anyway in the gaps between Spock’s quietly spoken words.

He supposes that as Spock has been so open about something so personal and painful, then he should return the trust placed in him. He wants to, but it’s not easy, he’s not used to sharing his inner self to that degree with anyone else, outside of Bones and Gary.

“I’m sorry Spock. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Do not be. It is not your fault that my hybrid nature earned me the disdain of my peers.” 

Guilt flutters inside because to Jim it feels as though he’s responsible for the conversation arriving at this point. 

He glances sideways at a tense Spock. “You gotta love those scientists, eh?” 

“In what way?” Spock asks a brow arching.

Jim captures Spock’s gaze and holds it. “In creating the first Human Vulcan hybrid, of course. Because personally I think the universe is so much better with you in it.”

Warmth floods Spock’s dark eyes. Jim grins. “Science, it’s underrated.” 

“Indeed. I have always believed so,” Spock says with a quirk of his lips.

Jim is pleased to see his words have the desired effect as Spock gradually relaxes, the tension draining from his shoulders.

They move the conversation on to less emotionally charged topics. They talk about their experiences at Starfleet Academy. Jim tells him about the swaying summer corn and the deep crisp snow that mark the biting winters of Iowa. Spock tells him of his child-hood friend I-Chaya and his occasional visits to Earth as a child when he accompanied his father to the Embassy. 

As the breeze picks up they pack the remnants of their picnic away and after a brief discussion agree to spend the remainder of a pleasant afternoon walking to Kirby Cove.

The trail descends in a lazy meandering path, sometimes gently, sometimes steeply. Native bunch grasses tangle with coyote brush. Monkey flower, blackberry and ferns choke the hillside. The air is replete with dandelion seeds, ethereal as they drift on the breeze.

Before descending too far down they stop to admire the view. The mist has faded and Jim has to admit the views are stunning. The sun is beginning to sink towards the horizon casting a honeyed glow over the bay. Beyond the rolling hills of the headlands the Golden Gate Bridge stretches across a blue expanse as smooth as satin to meet the sprawling city on the other side. He watches as little craft glide over the water zipping between the amphibious cafés, restaurants and hotels that float on the water. It makes him feel so small and insignificant yet connected to the world at the same time. 

He gradually becomes aware of how close Spock is standing. So close he can feel the Vulcan’s soft breath on his cheek and his stomach does a strange little flip. The air between them suddenly seems to be charged with energy, flooded with some heavy emotion that Jim can’t name and at this moment has no wish to. Resolutely he turns his gaze to the rays of golden sunlight filtering through the tall grass stalks at his knees.

He feels something brush against the skin of his hand and he looks down to see. Spock is lightly touching the back of Jim’s left hand with his fore and index fingers. The contact is fleeting, but an electric jolt shoots up Jim’s arm leaving a tingling sensation in its wake and raising goose-bumps along his skin. 

He looks up and meets Spock’s gaze and sees there recognizable fondness and something indecipherable. A light olive tint washes across Spock’s cheekbones. Before Jim can get his brain in gear to make some response Spock gives a soft smile and turns away to carry on walking down the trail. Jim follows, hand still tingling pleasantly.

As they continue downwards Jim ponders the gesture. Absentmindedly he slowly rubs his right hand over the spot where Spock touched him. What the hell was that? The moment seems significant. He should maybe ask Spock about it. But he doesn’t want to examine it too closely, so he pushes it aside to deal with later. Life is complicated enough at present. 

Lower down the trail as it flattens out, lizard tail, willow and paintbrush frame the path. They can glimpse a stretch of golden sand through the trees.

A little weary and thirsty they reach the cove. Jim flops down on a seat at a nearby picnic table and takes a long swig of water. Spock takes a seat opposite, hands folded in front of him.

They sit in comfortable silence as time drifts by and afternoon slips into dusk, the color leaching from the day as the light fades. A flock of birds soaring high above are dark silhouettes against an ochre streaked sky, the moon but a sliver on the horizon.

Eventually Spock stands and suddenly, Jim doesn’t want him to leave. He reaches out his hand and briefly, tentatively touches Spock on the sleeve.

“Let’s stay a little longer. It’s such a nice evening.”

“Very well, that would be agreeable.” Spock sits back down, seemingly pleased at Jim’s entreaty to stay longer.

Jim’s thoughts turn back to their earlier conversation. It can’t have been easy for Spock to be so open. “Thanks Spock,” he says quietly, “for earlier I mean, for sharing what must be really painful childhood stuff.” He hesitates. “I know how it feels, to be isolated, so I know how difficult it can be to talk about it.” 

“I find it difficult to imagine you as a social outcast, Jim. Would you care to elaborate?” Spock asks, with what Jim judges to be a hopeful look in his dark eyes.

Jim shrugs self-consciously. Maybe he shouldn’t have raised the subject again.

Spock evidently takes his hesitation as the reluctance to talk about it that it is. “If you would rather not discuss it, I understand completely.”

“It’s not that…” he begins. He exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding and tries again. “I remember once when I was very young, Sam and I decided to well…celebrate…his birthday I guess,” Jim says quietly, taking the plunge before he can think better of it. 

“We don’t really observe them usually. I mean, when mom was home we would mark each occasion obviously, but we aren’t the type of family to go in for the whole party and games thing.” He gives a wan smile and drops his gaze. “After all it’s difficult to celebrate mine, there’s just too many bad memories associated with it, so we used to celebrate my birthday a few days before the actual date.

“But this birthday mom was away on a long-haul mission with Starfleet and Grandpa Tiberius was no longer with us. I guess Sam and I decided to do something to mark the day anyway. Kids have such stupid ideas sometimes.”

He resolutely keeps his eyes on his nearly empty bottle of water, not wanting to look up to meet the dark gaze he can feel upon him.

“So anyway, like I said, we decided to have a birthday party. We made cookies. It took us forever and we sure made plenty of mess in the kitchen.” He smiles to himself as the memory paints itself across his mind’s eye.

“But living with Frank…,” he glances up at Spock quickly, “who by the way was mom’s second husband and unpaid babysitter.”

He drops his gaze back down to his drink. “Living with Frank meant that was all we could do because he sure as hell wasn’t going to bother himself with a birthday party, or even bother himself with a birthday. 

“You see, being under the same roof as Frank was rather like…well…walking on eggshells I guess. You didn’t know what mood he would be in from one day to the next. Up was down, left was right, black was white. The rules were just so arbitrary; basically it was just down to how Frank felt at that moment in time. 

“So, anyway all we had were the damn cookies. We didn’t have any decorations, or any party games or any other party food.”

Jim sucks in a sharp breath and inwardly curses himself for opening this wound to begin with.

“Anyway, it turned out Sam and I weren’t on the same page. Sam knew it had to be just the two of us. But I was too young, being four years younger than him, and didn’t realize that. I told a couple of kids at school, invited them home. Not many, just two. Because who doesn’t invite other kids to a birthday party. I shouldn’t have done of course. What a dumbass move!” He manages to let out a soft self-depreciating chuckle.

“So we had a few oddly shaped and slightly burnt cookies to feed them, in the tip of the house that Frank ran.”

Jim coughs, his throat constricting at the raw emotion he thought he’d buried so long ago flaring to life with the recalling of the memory. “It was mortifying at the ‘party’ when Cerys and Ben wondered why we only had cookies and asked where all the other party stuff was. Sam was really pissed with me.” 

He can’t bring himself to tell Spock the rest of it. About how after the ‘party’ they went to Cerys’ house. How after hanging out there for a while she asked her dad for something to eat because she was hungry. How her dad had looked confused and said, “But you’ve just been to a party, didn’t you have any food there?” How both he and Sam sat there ashamed and humiliated, wishing the floor would open and swallow them. How Sam didn’t speak to him for days after. 

He closes his eyes trying to force down the emotions the memory brings forth. The feelings of bitterness, humiliation and anger are still raw all these years later. He pushes them back down with an effort.

His breath hitches and he swallows before continuing. “I realized then why Sam didn’t invite anyone back to ours, and that I couldn’t either. I could never have any friends, not with Frank there. I never invited anyone again, not even on birthdays. Not ever. Not that I had any real friends anyway, until I met Bones that is, and you of course.” _Not until Gary. ___

He snaps his mouth shut. He’s said enough for one day, far too much.

He feels tense and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He’s glad that it’s nearly dark because he’s sure his cheeks are warm with the recalled embarrassment. He finds it difficult to even think about all the pain he’s buried deep inside in a futile effort not to let it affect him, not to let it blight his future. But he finds himself surprised that the burden already feels just a little lighter for having shared it with Spock.

“Sorry for the pity party, Spock.” 

“Do not be. It was not self-pitying. I am gratified you feel able to share such personal memories with me. It would appear that despite surface impressions we have much in common. You are correct, we are it seems, both regrettably familiar with growing up socially isolated from our peers.”

“Yeah, it would seem so,” Jim agrees, managing finally to meet Spock’s eyes. He gives a watery smile.

“It’s getting late we should go,” Jim says, noticing how the last of the days light has waned into shrouding darkness.

“I concur.”

They catch a transport back into the city, and alight not far from Jim’s home. The fog is beginning to roll back in. Spock removes his dark woolen hat from his coat pocket and pulls it down over his head. 

“Do you live near?”

“Hmm, not too far. I’m in a fixer-upper in the city.”

Spock’s brow furrows. “A fixer-upper?”

“Yeah, it means it’s falling down around my ears,” Jim says with a rueful laugh.

He expects Spock to make some comment, something about Jim being illogical for living in such a dwelling, but the Vulcan only favors him with his ‘not smile’ as Jim has come to think of it.

Jim gaze drifts to the hat Spock has just positioned on his head. One pointed ear isn’t quite protected by its warmth.

This time Jim surrenders to the curious urge to reach out and adjust Spock’s clothing. He stretches out hesitantly and touches the hat, soft and warm beneath his fingers. There’s something familiar about his actions, about the feel of the wool under his skin. He has a sudden jarring sense of déjà vu, a jolt of fragmented memory floating just out of reach and he wants to pull his hand away; instead he gently but quickly pulls the hat down over the tip of Spock ear, careful not to touch skin. He lets his hand drop to this side, and looks away, cheeks flushing. 

“Well, I better get going. Thanks for the picnic, it’s been fun.” 

“It was my pleasure,” Spock says, dark eyes sparkling. “Good night Jim.”

“Night, Spock.”

Jim watches him go, watches until the dark swallows him.

****

The porch light is on, as it is every day when he returns home after dark. A moth flutters against the glass, illuminated by the halo of ghostly light. Jim briefly hesitates on the door step, though he’s not sure why.

Gary looks up at him as he enters the room. He’s sitting on the sofa flipping through the pages of a book. “Had a good day?”

“Yeah, it was okay,” Jim says, leaning against the door frame.

“Go anywhere interesting?” Gary says, a look in his eye Jim can’t interpret. 

Sometimes, Jim reflects, Gary looks at him in the strangest way, as if he knows something that Jim doesn’t. It’s very disconcerting.

“Hmm, not really, I went up to the Headlands, then down to the beach.”

Gary pulls a face at the mention of the beach, as Jim knew he would. “Oh? Just you?”

“No, with someone from the Academy.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Erm, no, not really.”

“You okay?” Gary says with a frown. “Usually I can’t shut you up. But this conversation’s like pulling teeth.”

“I’m fine,” Jim says, though he knows Gary’s right. This isn’t like him, yet he finds himself strangely reluctant to elaborate, and oddly disinclined to analyze that reluctance too closely. 

“Hmm, okay.” Gary turns back to the book and to Jim’s annoyance he cracks the spine, bending the book almost in on itself. Jim had almost forgotten some of the little things about living with Gary that used to irritate him. 

He shakes his head as if to clear it and walks the rest of the way into the room and flops down on the sofa next to Gary. He places a soft kiss on Gary’s cheek and receives a warm smile back in return.

Jim is just about to ask Gary about his day when Ezra enters the room. He smiles at Jim. “Hey, Jim! I thought I heard you come in.”

“Hi, Ezra,” Jim says with a smile that he suspects doesn’t reach his eyes.

But Ezra has already turned his attention to Gary. “By the way Steve says you’re in check, your move. It looks bad.”

“It can’t be!” Gary shakes his head, his lip curled in disgust. “How can I be in check?” He turns to Jim with an apologetic look. “Sorry babe, I’ll just be a minute.”

“You’ve got a chess game going?” Jim asks frowning.

“Yeah, remember I told you I was going to learn how to play?”

“I can teach you. You only had to ask.”

“I know babe, but you’re busy with the Academy and everything and I didn’t want to bother you.” 

Gary jumps up from the sofa and passing behind Jim he reaches down and wraps his arms around Jim’s shoulders in a hug. He gives a squeeze. “I love you.” He drops a soft kiss to the crown of Jim’s head. Before Jim can even respond he’s left the room. 

Irritation and a curling of anger fizzes under his skin and Jim wonders for how much longer he can stretch his badly fraying patience to Gary. He’s not a particularly patient man and he feels he’s already shown inhuman levels of tolerance for Gary’s recent insistence on behaving like an inconsiderate ass. Jim lets the feelings flow through him briefly before stamping down hard on his resentment, taking deep breaths until he feels he’s shackled the emotions tightly and deeply inside. 

With a sigh Jim lies down on the sofa, propping his feet on the arm. As he stares at a crack in the ceiling he contemplates the invisible barriers sliding into place between them. Where has the man he used to know and love gone? Even as he grows closer to Spock, Gary slips further away. When did life get so complicated? He sucks in a shuddering breath, trying to chase the unsettling thoughts from his mind.

The minutes tick by, and his eyelids grow heavy. Eventually he drifts to a fitful half-sleep. He dreams of a cold white nearly featureless landscape. Gary is a diminishing speck on the horizon too far in the distance to reach. Jim runs to catch him, but the void between them never seems to close, only grows ever wider. Frozen snowdrops crunch and shatter beneath his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ARRGH! I've spent half the morning trying to put the italics were I want them, but sadly the site won't co-operate. The bit 'you're James Kirk, you don't believe in no-win scenario's' should be in italics, the same as the first part of the sentence ('you're not powerless'). Also, the bit with Jim saying “No. But where inches are concerned some Human men can feel the need to over-estimate.” 'some' should also be in italics as well as the inches. Sorry about this. If one of you lovely people can give an IT idiot some guidance (and step by step instructions) on why it's not working then please leave a comment, and then I can go back and edit the chpt later. Thanks. *pulls hair out in frustration*


	20. Chapter Nineteen

Jim sits on the Academy lawn, legs folded and head bent over a PADD. Spock is a tranquil presence beside him. They are seated near the lofty perimeter wall towards the rear of the campus, shaded by tall trees, their leaves rippling dappled shadows over the grass. The ground slopes gently away towards the brilliant white of the Academy clinic and the dark red-brick of the dorms in the distance, from where the occasional shout or peal of laughter drifts to them on the barely perceptible breeze. 

Jim turns to Spock, briefly surrendering to his new compulsion: the contemplation of a pointed ear, the consideration of a glimpse of smooth pale neck, the study of long elegant fingers. 

He clears his throat. “I’m going to do some reading.” 

Spock tilts his head up to regard him. “Are we not supposed to be studying? 

“Yeah, of course, but multi-tasking is one of my many talents,” Jim responds with a smirk.

An eyebrow rises skeptically.

Jim is undeterred. 

“Scientific research has proved that the Human brain absorbs and retains information better when studying is broken down into smaller blocks with regular breaks in between.” He shrugs. “It works for me. I can’t concentrate for too long on one thing, I need to switch gears occasionally.”

“A fact that has not escaped my attention,” Spock says, dryly.

Jim pouts. 

“So you see my decision to take a recreational reading break is backed by scientific study.” A beat. “And I know how much you value science.”

“Indeed.” Spock’s lips twitch and Jim responds with a lop-sided grin of his own. 

Jim pulls a small personal PADD out of his back pocket, and Spock evidently takes this as his cue to turn back to his own PADD. They slip back into comfortable silence.

Jim’s concentration eventually breaks when he feels a shivery sensation run along his neck, as if someone is watching him. He looks up and meets Spock’s gaze. Spock’s expression is neutral but Jim suddenly feels as transparent as glass.

“What?” Jim asks, raising a brow of his own.

“May I enquire as to what you are reading?” 

“Of course you can Spock. It’s Shelley’s Frankenstein.”

“Are you finding it rewarding?”

“Not really. It’s okay, and it’s a classic and everything, but the style of writing’s very dated. I find it too slow and too long.” He frowns down at the PADD. “You know, it wouldn’t surprise me if the myth, prevalent for much of the 20th century, of science being a cold-hearted and soulless process didn’t start with this novel.” He looks back to Spock and gives a casual shrug of a shoulder. “Besides romanticism’s not really my thing.”

He sees a look of bewilderment flit over Spock’s features, before he once again makes his expression a smooth mask. “Then may I enquire as to why you are reading it?”

Jim gives him his much practiced ‘duh’ expression. “Because I wouldn’t know I didn’t like it unless I read it, would I?”

“There is a certain contrary logic to your explanation, I suppose,” Spock admits somewhat reluctantly. “However, it does not explain why you continue to read the novel if you find the experience lacking.”

“Well because I…hey, did you just call me logical?” Jim says, the realization of Spock’s words dawning.

“I merely stated there was a certain _contrary _logic to your explanation. It is not accurate to extrapolate that to meaning that you are a logical being,” Spock responds, dark eyes sparkling.__

“You did too say I was logical. That’s a huge compliment coming from you.” Jim flashes him his widest smile. Spock’s gaze softens and he inclines his head in acknowledgement.

“What do you read to relax?” Jim asks keen to take this golden opportunity to learn more about the Vulcan.

“I spend most of my reading time perusing scientific journals and research papers, in line with my interests. However, recently I have also been reading the collected works of Vulcan’s most esteemed philosopher and scientist, Surak.” 

Now that he has the Vulcan’s full attention, Jim decides to abandon his novel. Talking with Spock is much more appealing. He blips over the reference to Surak. That can wait for another day.

“So, what scientific research is currently grabbing your attention?” 

Spock seems pleased by his question, judging by the little cues that he gives away in his expressions and mannerisms. If you look for them, of course, and Jim does. 

“I am currently examining a wide range of scientific studies, though at present chiefly in the fields of gravitational waves and geoengineering. I am also reading a brief history of human scientific discovery.” 

“That’s quite a reading list. What topics does the Human scientific history cover?”

“The scope is surprisingly wide, from dark matter and gravitational waves to string theory. It mostly concentrates on hypotheses first postulated in the late 20th and early 21st centuries.” 

Jim nods. “Yeah, a whole lot of interesting stuff came out back then. But it must have been incredibly frustrating.”

“Why do you characterize it as such?” Spock asks, quirking his head to one side like an inquisitive bird.

“Hmm, let’s see,” Jim says gaze unfocussed as he quickly skims his mind to haul a modest example to the fore. “Well, for instance, look at the discovery in the early 21st century of Kepler – 186f as they named it then, a planet almost Earth size and occupying its star's habitable zone. You can look at it from a distance through the best telescopes you have, try and gather what evidence you can and make educated guesses. But that’s all you’re doing.” He waves a hand vaguely. “You can’t tell without visiting whether it really can support life like Earth, or whether it is even habitable. The warp engine hadn’t been invented so it’s not like you could jump in a spaceship and go and investigate.”

Spock inclines his head. “Ah, I see. You make a good point, especially considering that in the Kepler system silicon based life-forms have since been discovered. ”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Being able to actually go and test your hypotheses by gathering data and conducting experiments. We were completely shackled to Earth.” Jim shakes his head. “How frustrating is that? At least now we can go and take a closer look.”

“You are correct; it is now much easier to test our hypotheses. For example, back in the early 21st century, the lack of sufficiently advanced Earth based gravitational wave detectors made it difficult to gather further evidence to validate the earlier research,” Spock says, settling into lecture mode.

Jim nods in agreement. “Yeah, the data was difficult to work with, and there are limits to what can be done from the ground. Gravitational wave research needed a space mission, which just proves my point.”

“I already conceded your point,” Spock points out with a quirk of his lips.

“So you did.” He flashes Spock a grin. “But just think, Spock, of all the stuff we don’t know. Most of it’s still a mystery. What we already know? It’s just the glow of a single candle in the vast blackness of the universe.” 

“While you are essentially correct, are you not being a touch pessimistic?” 

“Oh, okay then, two candles in the vast blackness of space,” Jim says with a roll of his eyes. “And I’m being generous here. As our knowledge expands, contact with the unknown expands, and that just leads us to more questions.” 

Jim shakes his head and gives a rueful laugh. “Obviously you know all this already, and we’re discussing the subject in really basic terms. I’m just saying that we should really measure scientific progress by what we don’t know rather than what we do.”

“Indeed. A mere few centuries ago, Human astronomers wondered whether the Milky Way constituted the entire universe. It is now thought probable that we live in one of many multiple universes. Though there is still some debate about whether the multiple universe theory is really a theory at all.”

“Or just an interpretation of quantum mechanics,” Jim adds.

“Precisely,” Spock says, gaze warm.

Jim regards Spock and wonders again why the Vulcan is in Starfleet and not at the VSA. Even though they have just been discussing science very much in basic layman terms, it is obvious the Vulcan is very intelligent. Oh, Spock gave him reasons back on that first trip to The Coffee Garden, but he suspects that it’s not the full story.

“Why did you really join Starfleet?” Jim begins hesitantly.

“As I already informed you previously I considered my future was best served elsewhere.”

“Yeah I know you did, but that wasn’t all was it?”

Spock turns his gaze away his jaw tightening. In a soft voice he says. “They disparaged my lineage.” 

Jim can guess what that means. “They dissed your mom, you mean?”

“Yes.” 

“How did you react?” Jim asks softly, voice low.

Spock turns back to face him, an eyebrow arching. “I thanked them for their consideration and told them to live long and prosper, of course.” 

“Why do I get the feeling you said a little more than that?”

Spock's shoulders shift minutely, in what Jim considers almost a shrug. “I did not say more than that. However, my tone may have indicated a rather different message.”

“Such as?” Jim pushes.

“I believe a human would express such a sentiment as ‘go forth and multiply’.”

Jim throws his head back and laughs. “Awesome!”

“I do not regret it. However, it was ill-mannered and no doubt re-enforced their opinion of my inherent inferiority.” Spock glances away again.

Jim leans towards Spock and gently places a hand on Spock’s sleeve. “Firstly, you’re not inferior. Got that?” He gives Spock’s forearm a gentle squeeze. “Secondly, you did the right thing, Spock. They insulted your mom. They insulted you. You can’t take that lying down.” 

“I did not.” Spock’s gaze drops to where Jim’s hand rests on his arm before darting back up and Jim can see the twinkle back in their dark depths. “I was standing at the time.”

Jim laughs. “You know what I mean. I think you feign ignorance of Human expressions just to mess with our heads.” 

He quickly removes his hand from Spock’s sleeve as he remembers too late that he’s not supposed to touch, though Spock doesn’t appear to care.

“But it must have felt good?” Jim says turning back to the topic at hand.

“Indeed. I found it strangely satisfying.”

Jim grins and gives Spock a slight nudge with his elbow. “Badass!” 

Spock regards him. “Speaking of motives for enlisting, are there more to your reasons for joining than you have already stated?”

Jim hesitates as the memory of their trip to Kirby Cove and his revealing of Sam’s disastrous birthday ‘celebrations’ floats back to his consciousness. The faint stain of the original humiliation and shame sluices through him, the residual wash of emotions the memory still evokes. 

“I guess I got tired of being a juvenile delinquent.” He gives a self-depreciating chuckle, “I got sick of attempting to stagger home drunk before falling asleep in a ditch.”

“And that was only last week,” says a gruff voice as a shadow falls over them. 

Jim looks up, squinting against the sunlight. “Hey Bones.”

“Jim,” Bones acknowledges before nodding to the Vulcan. “Spock.” 

“Good afternoon, Leonard.”

McCoy flops down beside Jim with a huff.

Jim breathes a sigh of relief that Bones has interrupted, preventing the conversation with Spock going any further. Guilt flutters inside briefly for pushing Spock to be more open when he himself is reluctant.

He turns to McCoy. “Bones you should have been here, Spock said I’m logical.”

“I’m hearing it. I’m having a hard time believing it.” Bones responds, his voice gruffer than usual.

Jim scrutinizes him closely noticing the watery sore-looking eyes and red nose. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Just some allergic reaction, probably connected to all this mowing of the lawns the campus insists on doing all the goddamn time! Why they just can’t let the damn grass grow, I’ll never know.” Bones gives a sneeze. “There’s a hypo with my name on it somewhere”.

“Good, at least it’s hasn’t got my name on it!” Jim says, taking some small shame ridden enjoyment that it’s not himself suffering for a change.

“Wimp!” Bones snaps before adding, “Wish I had a hypo that could shut you up for just twenty-four hours.”

“He does indeed have a tendency towards loquaciousness,” Spock interjects. 

“Yeah, they do say an empty wagon makes most noise,” Bones agrees nodding.

Jim is beginning to regret introducing the two to each other a little over a week ago. “Hey, what is it? Pick on Jim Kirk day? There are other more deserving candidates you know. Like Cupcake!”

“No one’s more deserving than you, kid,” Bones says with a smirk, before sneezing again and rubbing at a rheumy eye. 

“Stop rubbing it you moron.”

“Hey, that’s my line!”

Jim grins. He turns and meets Spock’s gaze, noticing the tell-tale teasing glint in brown eyes.

“Leonard, to what _‘they’ _do you refer?”__

“What?” McCoy looks to Spock, a frown developing between his brows.

“You said, ‘they say an empty wagon makes most noise.’ I simply request clarification on what _‘they’ _you refer to.”__

“Everyone! Is that clarification enough?” Bones snaps, expression darkening.

“Unfortunately not, as instead of clarifying matters you have simply confused them. In three years of residing on your planet I have not heard a single person utter such a phrase. Therefore your use of the word ‘everyone’ is inaccurate.”

“What the hell?”

“There is no need to become cantankerous Leonard. Regrettably your belligerent attitude is one of your many…shortcomings.” 

“Many! Going to draw up a list are you?”

“Unfortunately, due to the fact such an enterprise would require a significant amount of time I regrettably cannot undertake such a venture at this time.” Spock says, his voice calm, serving only to increase Bones’ ire.

“Why, you goddamn space elf!”

“Guy, guys,” Jim placates, trying hard not to laugh.

Bones is scowling at Spock, who remains totally unperturbed. 

“Jim, I regret that I have to take my leave,” Spock says, drawing Jim’s attention back to him.

“Oh!” Jim feels a fleeting pang of disappointment. “Okay. See you soon, eh?” He beams at Spock. 

“Indeed,” Spock replies with another of his clandestine smiles quirking his lips. 

Jim feels dry fingers brush fleetingly down the back of his left hand were it rests against the ground, and as before an electric jolt races up his arm. Jim blinks, and his heart gives an odd little lurch.

Spock stands in one fluid motion and with a brief nod of farewell to Bones, leaves. Jim watches him go, his hand tingling still where Spock touched him. 

Feeling strangely flustered, as he increasingly does where Spock is concerned, he stares unseeingly into the distance, thoughts swirling. Eventually for reasons unknown one thought coalesces, namely tracking down Plan B.

“While you were getting your geek on with Spock, I was…”

“Shush, Bones.” Jim shoots him a mock glare. “You’ll ruin my hard won reputation.”

Bones rolls his eyes skyward. “Whatever!”

“You ready to go? I’ve got somewhere I need to be,” Jim says standing and brushing himself down. 

“Where do you have to be in such a hurry?” Bones queries as he too stands. 

Jim grabs Bones shoulder and gives it an affectionate squeeze. With a grin he says. “Time’s running short and I’ve got plan B to put into operation.”

“Plan B?” 

“Yeah, you know the Maru.”

Bones sighs deeply. “Not that crap again! What happened to plan A anyhow?”

Jim gives a nonchalant shrug. “Nothing happened to it. Plan A went perfectly. But realistically there’s little more information I can get from Spock.” 

Bones throws him an odd calculating look. Jim ignores it by turning to walk across the grounds towards the clinic and dorms. Bones falls into step beside him.

“Anyway plan B is even better…” 

Bones holds up a hand. “Stop right there. I don’t want to know. Don’t entangle me in your hair-brained schemes.”

“Bones, it’s not hair-brained. It’s inspired. It’s so inspired that when I beat the test I’ll probably go down in Academy history.”

“Yeah, as the Cadet thrown out on his ass for cheating.” Bones shakes his head at him, and gives another sneeze.

“No, they’ll give me a commendation.”

“If you elevate yourself any more you risk breaking gravity and drifting off the planet, kid.”

“Even better, I won’t need to graduate.” Jim grins.

They reach the main thoroughfare through the campus grounds. Bones grabs hold of Jim’s arm, pulling him to a halt. “You should give this Maru thing up Jim. It can’t be done.” 

“Bones,” Jim says, giving him a smile, “People who say it can’t be done shouldn’t interrupt those who are doing it.” 

Bones scowls. “Who the hell said that?”

Jim shrugs. “Beats me, someone important from way back, I think.”

“Are you collecting famous quotations now?”

“Hell no! But Winona does. I think they fall out of cookie mix packets or something.”

“You shouldn’t live your life by cereal packet quotes, kid.” Bones shakes his head with a sigh. “Anyway, there’s a hypo somewhere waiting for me. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, later Bones,” Jim says with a pat on his friend’s bicep before turning away already intent on tracking down his plan B.

He finds Gaila in the library. She is sat to one side, alone at a table, head bent over a PADD, a stack of reference materials perched precariously by her right elbow. She is murmuring quietly to herself as she sweeps a stylus quickly over the PADD before her.

He hesitates to interrupt her, engrossed as she is, but after a brief moment he strides forward. “Hey, Gaila. Sorry to interrupt.”

She glances up at him and a sunny smile lights up her face, warming her eyes. He smiles back.

“Can I talk to you a minute?”

“Sure.” She pushes out the seat next to her and he sits.

****

Jim hesitates on the door-step. A part of him doesn’t want to enter, which is madness because this is home. But for the last few weeks home seems to have become a stranger to him. It feels like Gary’s friends are here all the time. Only a few days ago he went to answer a comm message from Bones and had to scramble over a mound of sleeping dead people, snoring softly on the floor.

He gives a sigh and enters the house. In the hallway he pauses and strains to listen. When he hears nothing he relaxes slightly. 

“You’re late. Where have you been?” Gary says from his seat on the sofa where he is sweeping a stylus across the sleek dark surface of a PADD.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ve been at the Academy doing extra research for a paper I have to finish,” Jim says apologetically, walking further into the room and flopping down on the sofa.

“So late?” Gary says evenly, eyes flitting briefly to the chronometer. “You could have commed me.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry. I will in future.” 

Gary’s focus is back on the PADD. Jim leans over to try to see what he’s reading. “What are you doing? Anything interesting?”

“Hmm, nothing much. I was just looking for some chess tips, you know, to improve my game.” He puts the PADD down on the arm of the sofa and turns to sit sideways giving Jim his full attention. “Want to play a game?”

Jim rubs the heel of one hand against a tired and gritty eye. “Sorry Gary. I’m beat.” He gives Gary a weary smile. “I think I’ll go to bed.” 

The smile slips from Gary’s lips, his expression turning pensive. “Hmm, there may be a problem with that,” he says a note of contrition threading through his words. 

“What do you mean?” Jim asks frowning. 

An unreadable emotion flashes through Gary’s dark gaze. “Oh, it’s just that I put a portable holo-vid in the bedroom, so the guys could watch movies.” 

“Why?” Jim can feel the first sparks of anger begin to flare to life inside and he tries to extinguish them before they catch hold, too weary for an argument.

“Because it’s warmer in there and they couldn’t get comfortable in here.” Gary says with a duh face as though this should be obvious.

“How many of your friends are in my bedroom?” Jim says quietly through gritted teeth. 

“Oh, only about nine or ten,” Gary says, giving a lazy shrug of his shoulder.

“How many?!” Jim shouts, jumping up from the sofa to stand over Gary, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Don’t worry, they’ll leave when you want to go to bed,” Gary says, seemingly unconcerned with Jim’s growing anger, his demeanor all too nonchalant. To Jim, it almost seems like he’s actually pushing for an argument, though he can’t put his finger on what gives him this impression. 

“I want to go to bed now!” he says tightly, still trying to cage the cold fury pooling in his stomach.

“Then just ask them to leave.”

“Oh, please!” 

“Jim you can’t arrive back in the middle of the night and then complain we’ve got company.” There’s an edge to Gary’s tone now.

“I can complain that they’re in my bed. Anyway it’s not the middle of the night,” Jim retorts.

“Near enough,” Gary mutters.

Jim pulls in a deep breath trying to keep calm. “It’s a bit much don’t you think, for them to be here all hours of the day? I don’t even know half of them.” He spreads his arms in exasperation. “Hell, I don’t even know what century they’re from.”

“That could be easily rectified if you just talk to them.”

“I _do _talk to them. But let’s face it Gary they’re here nearly 24/7 now! They’ve practically moved in!”__

“Oh, don’t exaggerate Jim!” Gary says, jumping up from the sofa to stand just inches in front of him. 

“I’m not exaggerating! This is ridiculous, this is my home.” 

“Will you keep your voice down, they’ll hear you,” Gary whispers angrily. “Do you really want to argue in public? It’s embarrassing for everyone.” 

Jim ignores Gary’s plea. “No, no I don’t! I don’t want to be in public in my own home. That’s the fucking point! I’d have more privacy streaking naked across the Academy campus than I have in my own goddamn home.”

Before Gary can respond Jim turns on his heel and crosses the room, eager to put as much distance between them as he can, eager to disperse some of the restless energy he can feel building in his muscles like an electric charge. He breathes deeply trying to regain some calm. 

He can hear soft footfalls as Gary follows him across the room and he senses the other man fall still behind him. Jim pivots slowly round to face him.

“It’s my home Gary. My home! But it doesn’t feel like my home anymore,” he says more softly.

“Ah, just your home now is it?” 

Jim puts his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and sighs. “No of course not, it’s our home. You know that.”

“Do I?” Gary asks bluntly.

“Yes!” Jim says sharply, looking up to make eye-contact.

For a moment there is silence, pregnant with something Jim can’t name.

“Like I said, you could try talking to them,” Gary says in an infuriatingly placid tone, breaking the moment.

Jim shoots him a glare before shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this is happening. Have I really got dead people sitting in my bedroom watching holo-vids?”

“You make it sound so unreasonable.”

“It is unreasonable, Gary! Any sane person would think it unreasonable.” He sighs in almost-defeat, his hand moving to rub the back of his neck. He gives a humorless chuckle. “The damn rats have gone, but I’m infested with ghosts.”

“Oh that’s just great! Do you think I’m infesting you as well?” Gary responds with a sneer. 

“No, of course not!”

“Just my friends then?” Gary bristles. “These are my friends Jim…no, okay, I’ll send them away, sure.” 

“Your friends are welcome here Gary as you well know, but not all the time. I’d like some privacy in _our _home. Surely that’s not too much to ask.”__

“No, it’s not.” Gary agrees quietly. He locks his gaze with Jim. “You want them to go, just tell them.” Gary falls abruptly silent, before adding softly. “You want me to go, just tell me.”

Jim hesitates. A few weeks ago he knows he wouldn’t have hesitated, not even for a second. Now he wonders why he falters and what it means. He knows that Gary hasn’t missed the pause either. He inwardly curses himself.

“No I don’t want you to go. I’m sorry. Just ignore me.” 

Jim sighs and shakes his head. “I’m going to bed.” He walks towards the door. “In the spare room,” he throws over his shoulder.

He removes himself from the room without further hesitation, wanting to be alone. He takes himself to the small second bedroom, taking the stairs two steps at a time. 

Once inside the room he negotiates his way over the dust covered junk and throws himself down onto the bed, not bothering to take his shoes off. He can smell clean freshly laundered sheets, the faint aroma of tropical fragrances assaulting his nose. He kicks off his shoes, hearing the soft thuds as they land on the floor.

He turns over to lie on his back and stare up at the greying ceiling, a few fine cracks running over its bumpy surface. 

He curses himself again. This is not how he wanted the evening to go. The argument runs around inside his head, over and over.

Gary seems to have changed, so much so that Jim sometimes struggles to recognize him. Was it always like this? First it was just the little things, like his sudden interest in speaking Vulcan. Then it progressed to Gary asking him to run endless errands, always trying to encourage him to leave the house. Something important about the numerous errands creeps and tugs at the corners of his weary mind, but he can’t quite grasp its significance. 

Then Gary invited two friends to watch some movies and from there it spiraled to ridiculous lengths. In the process Gary seems to have turned into someone Jim would never have imagined him to be; selfish and inconsiderate. Where has the easy-going, fun-loving Gary he used to know gone? 

Jim has to admit, even though it pains him, that there seems to be no way back to the way they were before. So maybe he’ll have to stop living in the past and start living for the future. Maybe it’s time to let go, because how on Earth do you hold on to a love, to a person, that is slowly slipping away from you? 

No, no, he has to patch it back together as best he can, for Gary’s sake if nothing else. Though he’s no longer sure what it is he’s trying to stitch back together. But maybe now he’s made his feelings clear, Gary will change his attitude, be more like the Gary he remembers. _I’ve told him how I feel, haven’t I? _He runs through the argument again in his mind. Yes, it should be obvious to Gary just how screwed up this whole situation is.__

He doesn’t know how long he lays there, thoughts spinning around his drowsy mind, clamoring for attention, but eventually sleep claims him, pulling him below the surface to its dark depths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all for your continued support via bookmarks and kudos :)


	21. Chapter Twenty

Battleship grey-blue clouds overlaying a pale silvery backdrop in broad brush-strokes have been gathering throughout the day, promising rain. The fading light has a soft luminous quality and the air seems to hum with static, portent of an electrical storm. To Jim the oppressive weather seems like an omen to other, more personal storms and he shivers but not from the humid air…

_He’s ready to leave the house, hurrying not to be late to the Academy. “Hold on. Just a minute,” Gary says, stepping forward and reaching out to straighten Jim’s collar. Gary doesn’t meet his gaze, his attention on the recalcitrant clothing, but as Jim watches him, feeling the brush of cool fingers against his skin, he realizes that he no longer has any idea what Gary thinks or feels about them, about anything of import. It feels like he never did, though he knows that’s not true. ___

_Gary turns to him and smiles that easy smile, the one that used to make Jim’s heart flutter. “There, that’s better,” Gary says, evidently satisfied. Jim watches his expression turn pensive. “Jim, could you try and get home earlier this evening? We need to discuss things.”_

_“We need to discuss things.” _The words reverberate in his skull. It’s not that Jim disagrees; he has his own questions he’s wanted to ask for weeks now, and he sees no point delaying any longer. But still, those five words are the reason that his day has been spent vacillating between nervous anticipation and cold dread, and now as he nears home any lingering anticipation gives way to apprehension.__

His mind wanders unbidden back to the previous evening. Last night’s argument is only the latest in a string of half a dozen or so over the previous two weeks, though this latest one is the most serious, ending with Jim yet again sleeping in the spare room… 

_Jim bends to the retinal scanner and the door clicks softly open. He pushes against it, but surprisingly the door does not yield as it should. Jim frowns and pushes a little harder, and with an effort he manages to open the door just enough to squeeze his head through so he can see what the problem is. To his consternation piles of his precious books are stacked against the other side of the door. The rest of the hallway has become an obstacle course of furniture. White hot anger bubbles and threatens to boil over. “Gary!” Jim yells. There’s no answer. ___

_Before he can shout again Jim catches a glimpse of hands carefully removing his books from behind the door. He waits until the hindrance has been cleared before pushing his way in. ___

_Ezra is standing there with a smile of greeting on his face. Even in his ire Jim notices that the man is cradling his books almost tenderly._

_“What the hell is going on?” Jim demands, a little more hostilely than he intended. With an effort he reminds himself that his anger is reserved for Gary, so he modifies his tone. “Ez, what’s going on with the furniture,” he glares pointedly at the cargo in Ezra’s hands, “and my books?” ___

_“It’s fantastic. Gary’s had a great idea. We’ve decided to re-decorate, just getting the rugs and stuff up now. You’ve got to admit the place really needs it,” Ezra says happily. ___

_Ezra’s statement does nothing to abate Jim’s growing rage, which leaks like molten lava through the walls he’s tried to fashion around it. He’s at a loss as to why. Just why is this happening. Shouldn’t Gary be discussing these things with him?_

_Turning away from Ezra, Jim negotiates the furniture piled high in the hallway and pushes his way into the living room where a massive argument ensues, mainly because Jim has had enough of Gary’s attitude and antics. ___

Jim reflects with sadness that it used to be so easy being with Gary. He’d always made Jim feel cherished, secure and happy. Loved. He has the memories to prove it too, reams of them, piling as thick as the dust in the spare room. 

But now it’s not so easy, even when they can get time alone. He’s at a loss as to why this should be. _‘Was it always like this?’ _He’s sure that it wasn’t. Gary seems to have changed so much from the person he thought he knew, he wonders if he knew him at all. He pulls that line of reflection to a stuttering halt. Of course he knows Gary. It’s just that…it’s like Gary and he are no longer entirely in step, never quite in time. The very notion causes sorrow to stack heavy in his chest.__

But there’s another strand of thought that crystallizes and entwines itself among the maze of other threads. It clamors for his attention. It might be more accurate to describe it as a gut feeling. It tells him something else is going on here between the cracks of what has become of their relationship. Jim’s learnt to trust his instincts. He can catch a tantalizing glimpse of one small corner of a larger picture. If only he could reveal the rest, fit the pieces together. He’s missing something vital and it frustrates the hell out of him.

A brisk breeze ruffles his hair and a low rumble of distant thunder echoes. Jim quickens his steps, eager to beat the rain home.

He’s nearly at his front door when the heavens open. Big fat drops of rain turn into a deluge within seconds. He sprints up the front steps to his door and ducks quickly inside, bracing himself for the usual wall of heat to hit him. It doesn’t. He eyes the thermostat warily. For the first time since he returned Gary has the temperature set to something approaching comfortable.

The hallway is filled with the enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee and Jim trails the scent to the kitchen. He hesitates at the door, leaning against the frame. The newsfeed is running in the back-ground, volume turned low. 

His gaze slides to the object of his thoughts and he watches quietly as Gary, who is standing at the work counter, back to him, pours coffee into mugs. He’s dressed casually in a pair of faded jeans and an old t-shirt, his brown hair tousled and curling slightly at the nape of his neck. 

The house is silent now save for the muted sounds in this one room, so Jim hopes the others have left, hopes that it’s just the two of them. Unusually for him, Jim’s at a loss on how to proceed. He knows they have to discuss things, but how to start without causing another fight? Maybe, he thinks, he should offer an apology, even though he feels he’s not the one mainly at fault. It does take two to fight. It would at least give him a place to start.

He pushes away from the door, moving further into the room. Gary throws him a quick smile over his shoulder before turning his attention back to the drinks. “I was wondering where you’d got to.”

Out of recent habit Jim almost bridles at the implication that he’s home later than expected but Gary’s tone is neutral so he lets it go.

Gary turns and flashes him a warm smile, which Jim returns with one of his own before sitting down.

He strains his hearing to pick up the thread of conversation from the quiet drone of the news net broadcaster, but Gary flicks it off. A mug of coffee is placed in front of him before Gary takes his own seat at the table.

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jim replies with a smile he suspects is just a little too tense, so he looks away and finds himself contemplating the steam spiraling up from his coffee.

“I’m sorry,” Gary says quietly.

Jim raises his head, looks at him. “I’m sorry too,” he says, voice low. Because yeah, Gary’s been plenty inconsiderate recently, but Jim feels partly to blame, too. 

As silence spreads between them, all Jim can hear is the rain falling relentlessly outside, drumming rapidly against the window panes. 

“Have you had anything to eat yet? I can rustle something up.” He can hear the faint concern in Gary’s voice. 

“No thanks. I’m not hungry anyway.”

Now or never he tells himself. He needs to select his words carefully, because he knows that words picked without care might mire him in a conversation a part of him still doesn’t want to have. Or, God forbid, an argument.

Jim begins, throat uncharacteristically tight, “Was it like this before?” 

“What…what was like this?”

Jim bristles slightly at Gary’s deliberate obtuseness. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Quit the bullshit. I thought you said you wanted to talk.” 

Gary exhales a soft sigh and nods in acquiescence. 

Jim gathers his thoughts and softens his tone. “Gary, what’s going on here? Why are you behaving like this?” He steels himself for Gary’s answer. Steels himself for another disagreement, for the other man to confirm his deepest most hidden fears, that his company is no longer required, he’s no longer worthy. _“You’re worthless,” _his mind whispers in an echo of Frank’s spite filled voice.__

“You don’t know?” Gary queries, a shadow of amusement in his dark eyes. 

Jim’s patience is wearing thin. But just as he’s about to let Gary know just how thin, things suddenly slide into place in his mind. Pieces locking home like a giant jigsaw. Granted, there are still some fragments missing, but the main picture, to Jim at least, seems crystal clear. 

All the times Gary has tried to get him out of the house, to socialize with his friends again, the countless errands, the pleas not to turn his home into a prison, piling the house to the rafters with dead people, the selfish inconsiderate behavior. All an effort to force Jim… _away…to force him to let go. Is that what this is? ___

Jim lets his head drop forward to not so gently smack against the table top. “Stupid Jim is stupid,” he mutters with a groan.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Jim can hear the laughter in Gary’s voice. “Not stupid, just oblivious sometimes, and for your information it’s one of the many things I love about you. It’s kinda adorable.” 

Jim lifts his head to look at him. Gary is smiling and Jim can feel a soft smile break over his own face. All of a sudden the tension that has been sharing the room with them crashes and breaks like surf against the shore. Everything is abruptly just a little more like it used to be, a little more in step. 

“So, this was your plan, eh?” 

“You’re not the only one with strategic flair, you know.” 

“Is that’s what you’re calling it?” Jim says, smile widening.

Gary just gives a shrug, lips curling slightly in amusement. 

“Ezra and the others, were they in on your little plan too?” Jim asks casually.

“Of course, because let’s face it, I wouldn’t have been able to piss you off all by myself.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jim says, tone teasing. “You’ve managed it before.”

Gary lets a quiet laugh escape, before reaching forward to grasp Jim’s left hand where it rests on the table. He entwines his fingers with Jim’s and Jim gives him a warm smile in return. 

They lapse into comfortable silence, listening to the rain as it splatters almost angrily against the window panes.

But as the implications of what has been voiced truly begin to sink in Jim freezes in sudden realization of what this means. This is goodbye. Gary is leaving. He’s sure of it. What he’s not sure of is how he feels about it.  


He pulls in a deep breath and takes his courage in his hands, even so, his voice cracks as he asks, “So this means…?”

Gary’s eyes shade with some emotion that Jim can’t name, something bittersweet, loving but sad at the same time, and Jim knows. The certainty of it pierces his soul like glass shards. Something tart rises in his throat reminiscent of sour cranberries, threatening nausea.

Pulling his hand free Jim pushes himself away from the table, abandoning his rapidly cooling coffee. As he paces away he can hear the scrape of chair against tile as Gary stands. 

The rain is still beating a relentless tattoo against the house and as Jim turns back to face Gary a sudden flash of lightening illuminates the room, casting it and Gary, for a few split seconds, in a ghostly flickering halo. 

“Jim?” Gary moves a few steps nearer, concern written clearly in his expression.

“I’m fine.” He swallows. “Why did you come back then, if you never planned on staying?”

Gary hesitates, as though trying to find the right words, expression sad but resolute. “Watching you without me and seeing…feeling…your pain was too much for me to bear. I couldn’t stand it anymore.” He pins Jim with his gaze, voice dropping to a whisper, “It was raining in my soul. It rained all day and all night.” 

They gaze at each other, the moment slow and drifting. But the emotional bleed out is too much and Jim drops his gaze, unable to look at him. 

“I longed for you.” Jim murmurs tears brimming, throat thick with emotion.

“I know. That’s why I couldn’t leave. Why I’m here.”

Jim jerks his head back up. “Yet, you’re going again.” 

“I’ve done what I came here to do. There’s nothing to be served by me staying. It won’t help either of us in the long run.”

Anger and loss tighten inside Jim’s chest. “And what did you come here to do? Get me to move on? Why do you get to decide unilaterally that you’ve achieved that objective? Don’t I get a say?” He clenches his fists, his body tense. “I need you.”

“You think you do, but you’re already taking the first steps to moving on, you just haven’t realized it yet.”

Jim frowns at that. What does he mean? To Jim, any steps he’s made forward in his grief are down to Gary being here. It paused everything, soothed the heartache. What’ll happen when Gary leaves? 

“I don’t want to leave you. I _didn’t _want to leave you,” Gary says earnestly, begging Jim to understand.__

“But you’re leaving!” Jim says, not quite able to mask the bitter undertone.

Gary closes the distance between them, catching hold of Jim’s arms. “I’ll never leave you. Not really. I’ll always be here,” he lightly rests a palm on Jim’s chest over his heart, “and here,” he says moving his hand to graze gentle fingers against Jim’s forehead.

His gaze rakes Jim’s face, considering. “Come with me. I want to show you something.” 

He grabs Jim’s hand and leads him towards the back door. 

“But it’s raining.” 

“No, it’s stopped.”

As Jim allows himself to be pulled along he takes the time to blink back the tears and swallow down the hitch in his breathing. He’s not going to cry. He’s not. He’s cried more in the past year than he has in his entire life. No more.

Gary’s right, the rain has stopped. Outside Jim is met with the pungent aroma of damp earth and the sound of birdsong drifting on the cool air. The nearly full moon is shrouded in gossamer tendrils of wispy dark clouds, its edges blurred. The stars, high in the sky, are bright and metallic.

“I’ll be just like the stars,” Gary says, gaze tilting towards the heavens, “even when you can’t see them, they’re always there. I’ll always be with you, even when I’m gone.”

“Seriously, isn’t that a bit trite?” Jim says, attempting to inject some levity, some normalcy into proceedings.

Gary looks at him and gives a half shrug. “Okay, so I’m not very eloquent, but I think you get the message.”

“Yeah, I do,” Jim whispers.

“You’re just a pain in the goddamn ass sometimes.”

Gary’s gaze returns heavenwards and Jim takes the opportunity to study him, drinking in his profile and tall leanly muscular silhouette in the twilight. He’s struck with the sudden desire to know how to keep this moment here. How to slow these last few hours so he can savor them properly, preserve them like the priceless treasures they are and impress them so indelibly in his mind the memories never fade. But he knows he can’t. It’s already slipping inexorably away as precious seconds tick by. A painful lump of emotion knots in his throat making it difficult to draw breath. With an effort he manages to pull his gaze away and tilt his own head towards the night sky. The stars blur.

“Think of all the worlds out there in the black I’m never going to see, all the places I’m never going to discover. All the people I’m never going to meet,” Gary says softly, his tone wistful. 

Jim’s throat is still painfully constricted and he attempts to clear it with a self-conscious cough. He turns back to look at Gary as he fumbles for the right words. He can’t find them, so instead retreats to more secure ground. “Well, you’re meeting dead people. That’s kinda fascinating.”

One corner of Gary’s mouth curls in what doesn’t quite become a smile, gaze telegraphing that he knows Jim’s an ass but he loves him anyway. “Not the same though is it?”

“No, it’s not,” Jim agrees, voice low.

After a few moments of silence, Gary lowers his eyes to study the glistening rain-drenched path, before turning his head slightly towards Jim. When he speaks his voice is soft. “Jim, live your dreams for the both of us. Go up out there and discover all those new worlds. See all those places no one’s ever seen, and because you carry me in your heart, I’ll see them with you.”

Jim gives a soft smile in return, before letting his gaze fall away. He has no words, the pain making it all but impossible.

This is the countdown to goodbye, and the most difficult thing Jim knows is saying goodbye. It’s such an everyday innocent word. But it’s loaded with so much meaning; in this case, heartbreak. It’s happened a lot to Jim. Everyone and everything he’s allowed to get close, allowed himself to care about, has been lost to him one way or another. It never gets easier.

Now he’s saying goodbye to Gary for the second time. No, he realizes, he’s saying goodbye for the first time. He never got the chance to say goodbye the first time.

Feeling the weight of Gary’s gaze, Jim raises his head. He exhales shakily. “Why does it have to be like this? I don’t want to say goodbye.”

Gary closes the gap between them and reaches up to brush a thumb against his cheek. Jim swallows the lump in his throat and closes his eyes against the touch, almost as though it causes him pain. In a way it does, because he knows that after tonight he’ll never feel Gary’s touch again.

There’s a nearly inaudible hitch in Gary’s voice. “Don’t say it, then. It’s not goodbye, is it, as I’m leaving my heart with you.”

Jim reaches forward until his lips brush against Gary’s rough cheek. He places a soft kiss there. Then suddenly he’s kissing Gary desperately, trying to pour all the emotions he can’t speak into the embrace. 

He feels a tear fall and run down his cheek. Gary must feel it too as he tries to pull away, tries to break the kiss. Jim just pulls him back more firmly. “Don’t,” he growls warningly. He can feel Gary’s smile against his lips.

They resume the kiss, gentle and warm. Jim runs a hand over the back of Gary’s neck, stroking the short soft hairs growing there. Eventually they break apart and Jim leans back opening his eyes to stare at Gary in wonder.

“Do you really have to go?”

Gary looks at him, expression conflicted between sadness and love. “Yes, because I want you to go on living. Go on living, Jim. Because as someone once wrote, life is for the living and death is for the dead.”

He locks his gaze with Jim and an understanding passes between them. Jim knows something has shifted, an ending reached, like the last page of a book being turned. 

“Okay,” Jim manages reluctantly, words forced past the lump lodged in his throat.

Gary nods, his expression still sorrowful yet now strangely peaceful, as if a weight has been lifted, and Jim feels the tight band around his own heart ease slightly.

Jim leans forward to rest his forehead against Gary’s. Something else occurs to him. “How did you manage to come back anyway? You being here should be impossible.”

“I guess that sometimes things become possible if you want them enough. Neither of us could let go, so I guess I never really left.”

At his words Jim experiences a funny sinking feeling. “Didn’t you like go to heaven or something?”

“I don’t think so. I was here with you.” His expression is easy going, like the Gary of old and Jim realizes that whatever is said next will leave him bitterly disappointed. 

“Well, I guess I thought that being dead, you’d have some answers, like where we go when we die, what heaven is like. Why doesn’t everyone’s loved ones come back, like you did for me?” He looks Gary straight in the eye. “Why didn’t Dad come back for Mom?”

“I’m sorry Jim,” Gary says, expression apologetic. 

“So death is still the great unknown?” Jim shakes his head wryly. “Figures.”

Gary chuckles and pulls Jim towards him in a rib-crushing hug. Jim buries his face in Gary’s neck and breathes in deeply of his scent, clean and masculine, uniquely Gary. They stand like that for what seems like an age.

****

Jim lies awake in the dark, listening to the soft cadence of the rain falling outside. Gary lies in his arms and Jim pulls him possessively closer. Gary sleepily responds by throwing his right arm across Jim’s stomach and nuzzling against his neck. Jim laughs softly, sadly, and drops a soft kiss to Gary’s forehead. 

“I love you,” Gary murmurs. “I’ve loved every second I’ve spent with you.”

There’s a sharp pull inside. “I love you too,” Jim whispers, his voice cracking.

He can feel Gary fade into sleep against him. He combs his fingers gently through Gary’s hair. With Gary going he’s losing a part of himself.

A part of his life is slipping out of reach with every second that ticks by. Slipping out of sight, slipping through his fingers like water, into the past. Left only to memory. 

Jim can feel sleep already begin to overtake him too. Exhaustion tugs at his mind and his eyelids grow heavy. But he can’t let himself slip under yet. He needs to absorb every second. Just one more second with this man. One more second.

He dreads tomorrow coming. If he can hold off sleep for just a little while, he can hold off tomorrow for a little while too.

He tries to press each image, each second, into his mind, to capture it forever. To hold it and never let go. A precious memory. All he will have left of Gary. All that remains.

Because this will be the last time he will hold this man, he knows that. All through the lonely painful months of his grief he’s been trying to push the memories aside, trying to forget the past, now he’s desperately trying to remember it all, every last second.

He stifles a yawn as he tries to resist his eyelids slipping closed, but he’s drawn down ever deeper towards the swift flowing undertows of sleep. His last memory of the day is Gary’s warmth pressed against him and the sound of rain softly falling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sniff* Ahh, Gary!
> 
> A/N – “because as someone once wrote, life is for the living and death is for the dead.”
> 
> The above is from:
> 
> “Life is for the living.  
> Death is for the dead.  
> Let life be like music.  
> And death a note unsaid”
> 
> \- Langston Hughes
> 
> Am I moving too quickly? Too slowly? Should there have been more arguments before Gary left?


	22. Chapter Twenty-One

Jim runs along the wide sweeping path heading towards the exit of the park. Dark meadow stretches to either side, splashes of scarlet poppy scattered amid tall emerald grass stalks. Early morning mist snakes along the path and curls among the grass stems.

Jim looks up. Towards the eastern horizon, through the haze, a brush of golden caramel and soft honey heralds the dawn of a new day. He moves up through another gear, pushing the pace.

Though he’s in no rush to get home, he’ll be glad when he can finish his run. A headache creeps at the edges of his brain and he’s functioning on roughly four hours sleep, if that. Another ten minutes or so and thankfully he’s jogging up an all too familiar street. 

He stops on the sidewalk outside his home, hands on hips, breathing hard, t-shirt damp with sweat. He pulls himself upright and braces one hand against the rough bark of one of the many trees lining the street, letting his heart rate slow. The cotton-candy pink blossoms of spring are long gone, replaced by an awning of dark green leaves rustling softly in the thin breeze.

He looks up and out and through a small gap spies a tiny scrap of hazy blue sky. He’s amazed to see any hint of blue, as though the mist is patchy and thin, the sun has not yet had chance to burn it away. Looking at the little spot of fuzzy cerulean he can almost believe he’s somewhere else, somewhere far away. 

He shakes his head at his flight of whimsy and pushes away from the tree dropping his gaze to street level. He takes in the view. The road consists of old Victorian style houses, clad in Neapolitan colors. They’re not Victorian, of course, only approximately a century old. Further out, the city is a different prospect altogether.

All tall thin spires with the occasional odd asymmetrical structure, some of the constructs seemingly defying gravity. The city is painted in matt black and somber greys, in sharp contrast to the neon colors of the hovering ad-boards. Dark glass glints in the diffuse early morning sunlight and air trams and hover cars weave among the towering architecture. To Jim it’s all very familiar and unremarkable looking, but Ezra and some of the others had been amazed, insisting the city looked like something from a Science Fiction movie. Jim supposes it would look futuristic and rather alien to someone born in the-mid 20th century. The thought of Ezra and the others leads him to think of Gary and something constricts in his chest as he turns to glance over his shoulder at the home they’d once shared.

He should go and get ready, or he’ll be late. He hesitates. He knows he’s prevaricating, though he pretends he’s doing no such thing. He tells himself he’s simply catching his breath. He’s not at all delaying, even for a few seconds, climbing the steps to enter his own home. 

But he knows he can’t stand here all morning and so he turns and runs up the steps to his front door, brushing past the large orange spikes of Kahili Ginger exploding over his neighbor’s fence, triggering more of its strong sweet fragrance to cloud the air. He moves an eye in front of the retinal scanner and when he hears the soft click of the lock he enters quickly.

As expected the house is eerily silent and he experiences a brief longing for Gary. He lets the sadness flow through him momentarily before determinedly pushing it aside. To keep his mind from straying further, he runs through his day in his head, as he dashes up the stairs to take a quick shower.

He hurries through his morning routine, pulling on clothes over still damp skin. He’s starting to feel claustrophobic in the house and he needs to escape, to get out. 

On his way to the Academy, despite his need for haste, he stops to treat himself to a take-away cup of drip coffee; dark roast, cream, medium sweet with chocolaty undertones. He takes a sip and hums his approval. He can’t face the day without his fix and though a shot of espresso would be quicker, drip has more of the desired caffeine. 

Even so, to arrive on time he’s forced to take the air tram across the bridge to Marin. He only just makes it in time.

****

Jim stands quietly, watching his basic hand-to-hand section fall in. He agreed to cover this morning’s session, the last before lunch, when the instructor withdrew at short notice. As he’s already an assistant instructor in the advanced hand to hand combat class this very basic session, delivered to new recruits, should be a walk in the park. 

Jim’s quite happy about the situation. For a few short hours he can forget everything else and just lose himself in the drills and the camaraderie of the newbies. Also, he reminds himself, when he’s done here he has a lunch date with Spock and Bones in the mess. He smiles.

As the recruits look at him expectantly, Jim begins the lesson by running through some warm-up exercises, following - once the cadets have mastered that - with a demonstration of basic defensive techniques and moves. 

The morning slips by swiftly.

****

“Bones, you had to eat the truffles within a week of them being made, and as Aurie had made them five days ago there wasn’t any way I could save some for you.” 

“But Brandy truffles!” Bones whines from across the table. “And you didn’t save me any? What kind of a friend are you? What happened to sharing?” 

“You want to know what happened to sharing? What about your stash of booze? Do you share that? You set the rules of engagement, remember. You can’t complain now.”

Bones turns to Spock. “See how he treats his friends,” he shoots a glare at Jim, “his long-suffering loyal friends.”

“Please do not attempt to ensnare me in this discussion, Leonard,” Spock says, pouring a little milk into his tea. His lips twitch, as he darts a quick sideways glance at Jim. “Entertaining though it is.”

Jim bites back a grin, as Bones scowls at Spock who simply carries on serenely eating his lunch.

Jim, as is usual recently, is hyper aware of Spock’s proximity and with Spock sitting next to him, shoulders almost touching, Jim finds it almost impossible to resist stealing a quick peek down at Spock’s hands, at the long graceful fingers expertly curling a dark leaf around his fork. The perfect shape of his nails. The back of Jim’s hand tingles with the remembrance of cool dry skin softly brushing…

He can hear Bones grumbling to himself, and he quickly forces his gaze from Spock watching and back to McCoy.

He’s dismayed to find Bones’ surly gaze fixed upon him. Bones is inspecting him closely, an odd glint in his eye. Jim sits straighter under the scrutiny and adopts his poker face. Bones’ calculating glare gives Jim the once over, before his gaze settles on Jim’s plate. “You’ll get fat!”

Jim lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as he realizes that Bones is still fixated on the brandy truffles. 

“Eating a load of chocolate brandy truffles,” Bones says, voice slightly strangled, “it’s just asking for trouble.” 

“It wasn’t a load. You talk as if there were hundreds of the damn things.”

“All that sugar and fat! You should be limiting your intake of those two killers.”

“Stop nagging, Bones. You sound like Winona. You know eating should be enjoyable.” He pouts at McCoy. “You take all the fun out of it.”

To Jim’s dismay Bones is not deterred. “There’s nothing green on that plate, kid,” he says, jabbing a finger towards the offending platter. “You need to eat a more balanced diet, more fruit and vegetables. At least have a little side salad.”

“Salad! I’m not a rabbit, Bones.”

He’s not going to be dissuaded by any argument Bones is about to make, especially as he missed breakfast and is now ravenously hungry. On cue his stomach rumbles pitifully. In response Jim shovels a forkful of food into his mouth.

Bones rolls his eyes, before leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. He throws Jim another shrewd gaze. “Well, we’ve established the fact you’re quite clearly not eating properly, and I would bet a month’s credits that you’re not sleeping enough either.” 

“You’re just sore about the truffles,” Jim mutters, sorry he even raised the subject. He’s certainly not going to confirm Bones’ suspicions about the lack of sleep.

“No, I’m not. I’m just concerned about you. A better diet and better quality regular exercise…”

“I keep fit. I go running most mornings.” He smiles ruefully. “Well I’ve started again, that is.”

“You carry on eating the crap you eat and soon enough you’ll be struggling to run a lap round your own waistline.”

“Ha, Ha! You know Bones you should take more sugar with that tart.”

“No thanks. I’m sweet enough.”

Spock darts another quick glance at Jim. “Do you wish to disabuse Leonard of that notion or shall I?”

“No you go for it, Spock.”

“I would, if not for the fact it would undoubtedly be a pointless exercise.” He addresses his next point to Bones. “I pity the patients that require your medical assistance.”

“I’ve already told him that his bedside manner sucks.” 

“Listening to the pair of you jabber on, anyone would think I’m a humorless miserable curmudgeon,” Bones grouses.

Jim huffs a laugh and gives a shake of his head. “Yeah, you know Bones I hate to break it to you, but that starship has already sailed at warp nine, crossed by the Sea of Tetchiness, skirted the Nebula of Insufferable Sermonizing and docked in Geosynchronous orbit at Planet Miserable Bastard some time ago.” 

His reward is a sharp glare from McCoy, though Jim thinks he can also see a hint of amusement lurking at the edges of his lips.

“In fact, you sound tetchier than usual Bones. What’s up?” 

Bones doesn’t answer in words, only offers a grunt.

“Aww, come on, it can’t be that bad. What’s eating you?”

“What you mean other than this week’s clusterfuck in the brimming moron-pot that is Starfleet Academy?”

From the corner of his eye, Jim can see that Spock’s right eyebrow has swooped into his bangs. He smiles inwardly. He loves Spock’s itinerant brows.

“So, any details Bones? Or are we going to have to guess?” Jim raises his glass of iced water to his lips and takes a sip, ice cubes clinking against the chilled glass. He sets it back on the table and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

“The list of bullshit is too long. Suffice to say that the idiot Hendrick’s talent has quite literally no beginning, but sadly, his career hasn’t yet shrunk to match his lack of ability.” 

“Ahh,” Jim says, offering Bones a sympathetic shrug.

“In fact, he’s two-parts boorish simpleton and three-parts sanctimonious hypocrite.” Bones is clearly only just getting into stride. “Add condescension, ego, spite and a complete lack of common understanding to the mix and you have right there the very definition of the moron. The man’s not fit to run a bath.”

“He’s not proving inspirational then?” Jim says with a grin.

Bones scowls at him from across the table. “He couldn’t inspire water to flow downhill.”

Jim huffs a laugh as Bones continues his tirade.

He lets Bones’ rant wash over him, only half paying attention. He’s not unsympathetic to his friend, but he’s heard this particular tirade regarding the infirmary’s chief medical officer before. He takes the opportunity to clean his plate and to sneak the occasional covert glance at Spock, who appears to be studying Bones as a scientist analyses a specimen in the lab.

“Leonard, if you eventually skirt near an actual point please feel free to make it,” Spock says, cutting Bones off mid rant.

“I’m making a goddamn point! The point is, it’s all politics and as usual I cop the shitty end of the deal.”

Jim can make an educated guess at what has upset his friend. “You pull the graveyard shift again?”

“Yeah, a damn shift at the infirmary until god knows what hours of the early morning. But before that I have a medical ethics midterm and a xenobiology midterm.” 

Jim proffers Bones what he hopes is a kindly smile. “Sorry Bones.”

“Not your fault, Jim.” Bones raises his glass to his lips and drains the contents with one long gulp. “Better get started if I’m to get to bed at all in the next 24 hours.” He smiles at Jim. “See ya later, kid.” 

“Yeah, catch you later Bones.”

McCoy exchanges a nod with Spock and is gone.

Jim casts a glance at Spock’s cleared plate. “Shall we make a move?”

Spock nods his acquiescence and together they stand and clear the table, dropping crockery and cutlery into the recycler on their way out of the mess. 

Out in the hallway Jim turns to Spock to say his farewells and to ask Spock to comm him later when from the corner of his eye he can see Cupcake approach, cronies in tow. He gives an internal groan.

To his surprise and relief Hendorff and entourage, expressions morose, enter one of the small lecture rooms opposite. He turns a quizzical expression to Spock.

“They are holding their own...”

“They’re holding their own what? Wake?”

Spock raises a questioning brow at him. “Did you just interrupt me so you could insert a punch line?”

“Yep, cos the joke wouldn’t have made sense otherwise, Spock.”

“No, it would not.” Spock tilts his head slightly. “Which leads me to ask, did you pose the question just so you could make the joke?”

Jim grins.

“You are incorrigible,” Spock says dryly, eyes warm.

“No, I’m in the corridor.” Jim says, gleefully.

Did Spock just roll his eyes or the Vulcan equivalent of eye-rolling? Jim gives a mental fist pump.

****

With a soft click the door unlocks and Jim enters. Once it closes behind him the silence rushes in. The silence isn’t the only thing. The house is colder than he remembers. He’s grown used to it being overly warm. Each time he comes home there’s a few seconds of adjustment while the realization sinks in. He sort of forgets sometimes he’s now living alone. Again.

Subconsciously, he assumes Gary will be here. At the reminder that he’s not despondency blooms inside. He wallows briefly before forcing the feelings aside. 

Gary has only been gone for just over a week and Jim is surprised to find the missing of him isn’t quite as bad this time round. It seems a little less painful, a little less weighty. It still hurts, in ebbs and surges, some days are worse than others, but instead of being imbued with despair, some of the endless ocean of grief seems to have depleted a little, leaving a shallower lake in its wake. It’s more manageable. 

The house is the main problem. Too silent, he can’t stand it. Hence his spending yesterday evening in a poker game with Bones and Scotty. In fact, he’s spent as much time out of the house as possible since Gary left. Poker nights, evenings spent with Bones, time spent with Spock, extra-curricular activities at the Academy, such as the xenolinguistics club. He can’t quite believe that barely five months ago, he didn’t want to leave the house at all, spending weeks in self-inflicted isolation. 

He turns the heat up and goes into the living room, turning the holo on, illuminating the room with long flickering shadows. He needs the background noise to fill the silence and take the edge off his solitude. 

He does some tidying up and has the vacuum bot out for a run. It gives him something to do. 

He makes a mug of coffee and powers up his terminal at the desk near the window, intending to do some work. He idly scrolls through his mail, mind restless. A part of his thoughts are taken up with making plans for future evenings. The less time spent at home the better. 

He is more slumped than seated in the chair, but sits up when an idea crystallizes in his mind. It’ll soon be 12th August. Federation Day. Lots of long-winded speeches and commemorations during the day, but happily lots of celebrations and parties in the evenings. He opens up a message window. The cursor blinks at him. He quickly types out an invite, hesitating only briefly before clicking send.

The holo is now playing soft music in the background. The melodies slide past his ears barely touching his consciousness. He can’t concentrate on work, he feels restive, unfocussed. The walls of the house are closing in around him and he needs to escape. Escape now.

He wanders out into the garden. The last of the evening's light has faded into blanketing darkness, extinguishing the shadows. The cool air chills his skin. He lets his gaze drift heavenwards. The stars stretch across the heavens.

The memory of their last night together dances in front of his mind’s eye. He tries to push it aside. But memory persists – silently, stubbornly. He recalls rough fingers gentle against his face, the brush of stubble against his cheek. He blinks rapidly; holding back the sting of hot tears, and manages a sad bittersweet smile at the recollection. 

He’s not sure how long he stands out watching the night sky but eventually he drifts back indoors. 

He notices his terminal screen is insistently flashing up an incoming message. He goes back to sit before it, taking a sip of tepid coffee. He grimaces and pushes the mug aside. He opens the message.

He scans the line of text quickly, feeling the smile bloom on his face.

_Jim, good evening. I would be honored to spend the evening observing the Federation Day celebrations with you. Please notify time and venue. Regards Spock. ___

It’s short and to the point. It was never going to be verbose, after all it is Spock, but Jim inwardly cheers. Another evening taken care of, another evening filled with something other than haunting an empty house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all for comments and kudos :)


	23. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't had chance to do a final double check for errors, but here goes anyway :)

Jim’s starting to think that this was a bad idea. A very bad idea. It’s fairly early still and already the crowds are increasing rapidly, and this isn’t even a celebration that everyone’s on board with, unlike July 4th or New Year’s. Yet here he is, weaving his way through the burgeoning throng along the wide Embarcadero, part of the Historic Piers District, hurrying to meet Spock. Everything is loud and bright. Pulsating beats spill out from open doors and windows onto the sidewalk, along with the enticing smell of cooking food. The evening air is thick with the noise of laughter and excited chatter. 

What on Earth was he thinking, inviting a Vulcan to the city’s Federation Day celebrations? He mentally curses himself for his selfishness. Though, he muses, it’s probably an entirely appropriate festival to invite a Vulcan to, considering it’s a day dedicated to the union of the many different species making up this quadrant, of which Vulcans are founding members.

He thinks back to earlier that afternoon when he’d stood with a mass of other cadets at parade rest on the meticulously manicured Academy lawns in front of the monument commemorating the founding of the Federation in 2161. The testament to inter-species co-operation casts its long, thin, needle sharp shadow over the gathering, its Federation seal of stars between two olive branches clumsily (in Jim’s view) affixed to the top. As predicted, the cadets stood silent and languid in the hazy summer sun as long-winded speeches were made. He’d been successful in resisting the urge to fidget, only furtively pushing himself up on his toes and craning his neck towards the stage when Ambassador Sarek made an appearance. But unfortunately, from where he stood in a sea of cadets he could see little of Spock’s father. 

He stops to skim the crowd. This section of the Embarcadero is the ideal location. It’s near the Bay Bridge and many of the piers. Plus in Jim’s opinion it offers some of the best views of the bay. It’s where he’s arranged to meet Spock (in the shadow of the ancient and iconic Ferry Building) who, being a punctual being is no doubt already waiting for him.

At the thought of him, Jim reminds himself again for the tenth time that Spock agreed to accompany him. He could have declined or suggested a different venue, and the Vulcan must have some idea of what to expect, having spent the last couple of years living in the city. He tells himself not to worry so much, but can’t shake the nervous anticipation that always seems to thrum through him when he’s about to meet him. 

He catches sight of the focus of his musings, standing straight-backed and tense-shouldered, amongst the surging multitude around him. A tinge of guilt flutters in Jim’s chest.

But as Jim crosses the street to approach him a little of his anxiety bleeds away as once again he’s struck breathless at the sight of his friend. His gaze drinks in the long lean frame hinting at power and grace, the perfectly pointed ears, the strong line of jaw.

“Hi, Spock,” he says with a smile.

Warm dark eyes turn to greet him, and Jim’s stomach does the weird little flip it now does whenever he’s in Spock’s presence.

“Good evening, Jim.” 

“Sorry Spock. What was I thinking?” he says, sweeping an arm to encompass the over-populated street.

“Negative. There is nothing to apologise for. I have long since wished to observe the Federation Day celebrations, but have not, until now, had an opportunity to do so. It will no doubt prove to be a valuable insight, enhancing my understanding of Human customs and social interactions.”

“Ever the scientist, eh?”

“Of course,” Spock says, inclining his head, warmth coloring his tone. 

“It’s pretty crowded. What about your telepathy?” Jim persists. 

An eyebrow rises for a fraction of a second before fluttering downwards. “In common with other Vulcans, I am able to construct a form of telepathic shielding. It protects me from contact, both deliberate and inadvertent and the emotional transference that would result. Such shielding enables my people to live among other species without any ill affect.” Spock’s gaze softens. “But your concern is noted and appreciated.”

Warmth bubbles in Jim’s chest and he grins. “Well, shall we go soak up the atmosphere?” 

“An excellent idea.”

Jim forces himself to drag his gaze from Spock to take in the busy thoroughfare. It’s lined with cafes, bars, restaurants and shops. It’s difficult to know where to start. 

By mutual unspoken agreement they cross the street to browse among the stalls. Vendors often sell their wares along the historic waterfront, but this particular evening seems to have surpassed any in Jim’s experience of the city. There seem to be hundreds of them. Some are laden with food, some with beverages from all corners of the quadrant, many with gaudy looking jewelry and art. Much of it still reflects Earth culture. However, among the detritus, they find examples of Andorian art, Vulcan IDIC pins and incense sticks, and Tellarite engineering. They spend a pleasant hour or so just walking and browsing. 

Eventually, Jim turns away with a pang of disappointment, and not a little boredom. Spock watching is infinitely more appealing than browsing the many stands littering the Embarcadero. “So what do you think?” he says, breaking the gentle silence between them.

“I would have expected more cultural influences from the other member worlds of the Federation. It is Federation Day, after all.”

Jim cranes his neck to read the titles decorating the cracked spines of a few yellowing paperbacks at a nearby stand. He idly runs a finger along them. “It is, but this is still Earth and it’s bound to be more Earth influenced than not. Even Starfleet is still eighty percent Human.” 

He turns to regard Spock. “Look at you, the only Vulcan in Starfleet despite the fact that Vulcans are our oldest allies. But you’re right, it’s disappointing.”

“It is indeed regrettable.” Briefly Spock glances away, further down the street, before turning his attention back to Jim. “Would you care for a drink?”

“I’d love one,” Jim responds, books forgotten.

They go in search of a bar that’s not too crowded, no easy task as it turns out. But eventually they find one. It’s decked out in red brick, dark steel and polished copper, with the added bonus of huge floor to ceiling windows. Once inside the busy chattering saloon Jim scans the room. There’s a table at the bottom end, right next to the huge sheets of glass. He’s determined to get it. He grabs Spock’s coat sleeve and hurries down the length of the bar, pulling an unresisting Spock with him. 

He’s delighted when he reaches his goal before anyone else. He looks down and realizes he’s still holding Spock’s sleeve. He lets go with a sheepish grin, and can almost taste the Vulcan’s amusement. 

He slides into the seat opposite Spock, and picks up the menu. As expected there is a large seafood selection. Neither is desperately hungry so after a brief discussion they agree on a food choice they can share. Orders placed, Jim turns his attention to inspecting the bar in more detail. He decides he prefers The Coffee Garden which he’s begun to think of as their place, his and Spock’s. But this will do. At least they have great views of the seething Embarcadero.

The conversation ebbs and flows, and soon over a shared vegetarian platter, Jim is listening avidly to Spock tell an amusing anecdote of how he once, when very young, decided to do his own science experiment, the result of which was filling much of his school with billowing smoke. It sounds very much to Jim’s ears like an experiment in making smoke bombs.

“I wish I could have been there to see it,” Jim says cheerfully, stabbing a piece of cheddar. “What compound did you use for the dye?”

“Rhodamine B,” Spock says carefully, almost reluctantly, his attention riveted to a spring roll on the shared plate between them.

“Red. Good choice.” Jim frowns. “Doesn’t Rhodamine stain everything it comes into contact with?” 

Jim could swear Spock’s ear tips tint a slightly darker shade. 

“Indeed,” Spock says, carefully spearing the spring roll with his fork. 

Jim throws his head back and laughs. “Oh, I bet you were popular.” 

Spock’s brows draw down in a slight frown. “Hardly. I was, how do Humans say, in the cat’s cradle.”

“In the dog house, Spock,” Jim says with a smile, not entirely convinced that Spock’s never heard of the expression before. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to be making smoke bombs in school.”

An eyebrow arcs in enquiry. “The type? I did not realise that there had to be a ‘type’ as you term it. Would I be accurate in assuming you would fit this type, Jim?"

“Me?” Jim says feigning innocence.

Spock nods.

“Hell no! Smoke bombs are way too tame. I’d be trying to make napalm or gunpowder and then finding myself excluded for blowing up the school,” he says with self-depreciating grin.

Spock’s face is impassive, but Jim can perceive the warm sparkle in dark eyes. A corresponding warmth blooms in Jim’s chest, and disquieted he picks up his drink and takes a sip, ice cubes clinking. Over the top of the glass he meets Spock’s gaze and holds it, and again his stomach does that strange little flip. The burn of the vodka in his throat quickly followed by the snap of ginger fortunately breaks his focus on Spock. He breaks eye contact, but to his consternation his hand is a little unsteady as he puts his drink back down. 

Jim clears his throat, and tries to mentally brush off the sensations Spock seems to be causing in him. “I can totally understand your desire to do proper experiments though. You can only get hold of the serious stuff in schools or science labs. The chemistry sets you get as presents, at least on Earth, suck. They’re little more than toys. They basically mix colors. You can do that with paint. I mean seriously, how’s it possible to do real experiments without proper chemicals and all the other crap you need.”

“Ah, yes ‘crap’, that much under-utilized scientific term.” Spock says with an eyebrow gesticulation that Jim reads as sardonic. “But I agree with the essence of your argument, as science when done correctly is not just about mixing chemicals. It is a way of pursuing knowledge, of testing that knowledge, and of organizing that knowledge in the form of testable explanations. It is about assuming responsibility, understanding risks, and taking the necessary precautions to mitigate those risks.”

“Like you did in school, you mean?” Jim teases.

“A minor miscalculation on my part, but a valuable lesson in taking personal responsibility.”

Jim chuckles as he picks up a piece of Rosemary focaccia and pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. 

He wonders at his own reactions to the Vulcan. He wonders why it feels like he’s known Spock for years rather than just a few months. He realizes he feels content, happy even. He sinks into the moment, savors it. It seems like an age since he last felt like this. Before Gary died certainly. For a brief moment he feels a shimmer of sadness. It casts a shadow over his heart and he can feel his smile slip.

A fragment of memory resurfaces, but it’s too fleeting and unfocussed for Jim to catch. He absent-mindedly runs a thumb over the cool condensation beading on his glass, as he tries to bring the memory into focus. It refuses to be caught, too fleeting and indistinct. His failure to remember makes a cold feeling pool in his stomach. Was the memory about Gary? Is he forgetting already? _No, that’s stupid, of course not. ___

He cuts a quick glance upwards at Spock and catches the Vulcan looking at him with a…what…perceptive? Concerned?…glint in his eye. Jim’s unsure. He looks away, avoiding the Vulcan’s gaze.

From outside he can hear the rapid popping of firecrackers. He turns to the giant window, watching the fireworks explode over the bay. Spock probably thinks of fireworks as the starting point of a chemistry lecture. Jim mentally smiles at the thought. He wonders if they use fireworks on Vulcan, for celebrations and stuff. Do they celebrate stuff? 

He clears his throat. “Do Vulcans celebrate stuff?” _Well done there brain. What a lame ass question. And they say you’re a genius. _He can feel his cheeks flush.__

Spock regards him a moment. “Indeed. There are several. Many, such as the Tal-Shanar and Rumarie, date from the time before Surak. All of them have long traditions among my people. For example Kal Rekk is observed yearly, a Vulcan year of course. It is a day of atonement, solitude and silence. A time of reflection.” 

“Sounds like fun,” Jim responds wryly.

A brow flares upwards. “Certainly. Many Vulcans find it most sufficient.”

“You’ll have to let me know the date, I’ll be sure to book my next vacation there,” Jim says good-humoredly, hoping Spock doesn’t take offence.

“It would undoubtedly prove to be a most beneficial vacation. However, regrettably many of our traditions are not open to others.”

“Pity! I was looking forward to it.”

“Indeed,” Spock says dryly.

So Gary and the Xenobiology lessons at the Academy are correct then, Vulcans are a very private species. To Jim, it just means it’s all the more special that Spock is willing to share so much with him. Warmth floods him.

“Would you like another drink?” Spock asks, breaking in on his musings. 

Jim shakes his head. “Let’s go outside and watch the fireworks.”

They meander along the Embarcadero, the crackle and pop of fireworks accompanying them. 

Not all Jim’s attention is taken with the scenery however, and he constantly finds himself unable to resist slipping sideways glances at the Vulcan beside him. Spock’s curiosity at this moment seems to be focused on the vibrant illuminations. Tiny lanterns string along the waterfront and surrounding neighborhoods like multi-colored ribbons, their soft lights glowing like warm embers. The numbers used are staggering, they weave through trees, and loop from street light to street light. Spock seems to be slightly wide-eyed at the spectacle, gaze darting back and forth, and mouth slightly open. A smile tugs at Jim’s lips and he ducks his head. 

In mutual agreement, they turn on to Pier 14, which runs perpendicular to the shore. They slowly make their way down its long length, the bay lapping gently at the concrete supports beneath their feet. Jim mentally cheers their good fortune as further along the pier the crowd thins out a little and they find a more secluded spot from where they can watch the fireworks.

Jim moves to the metal railings and leans over to look at the dark waters of the bay. Hundreds of small white lanterns illuminated from within with a soft ethereal glow, slowly drift into the swallowing darkness in long haphazard strings, their number seemingly doubled due to their reflections in the rippling water. 

As Jim watches them bob on the current he’s aware of Spock joining him, coming to stand close beside him, close enough that his arm brushes against Jim’s. He can feel Spock’s soft breath caress his cheek, and he suppresses a shudder, and the urge to lean closer.

Instead he leans against the handrail and stares up at the fireworks lighting up the night sky. Rockets burst in a shower of crackling sparks, their spray of miniature stars falling from the shadowy heavens, a cascade of color against the inky backdrop of space. 

“Quite a sight, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Spock murmurs. Jim suppresses a shiver.

“A firework nearly took my head off, once.” He casts a quick glance sideways and sees Spock raise an eyebrow in surprise and interrogation.

“Yeah, Sam and I were setting them off, just for fun, as kids do. I can’t really remember were we got them, or why we thought it was a good idea.” Jim keeps his gaze on the display before them, refuses to look Spock’s way, even though he’s acutely conscious of the Vulcan’s proximity. 

“Anyway, one of them, instead of going vertical turned at a right angle and started flying horizontally about four foot off the ground. I was standing at the open front door of the house when it came straight at me. I only just, literally by seconds, moved out of the way in time. It missed my head by inches.” Jim lapses into silence for a moment, a soft grin at the memory. “We might have burnt the house to the ground. But luckily the thing flew clean through the house in a straight line and exited out an open window at the back.”

He turns to Spock. “A salutary lesson that fireworks aren’t toys.” 

“Indeed.” A beat. “I am gratified the firework missed you,” Spock says softly. Jim does shiver.

As if drawn by Spock’s smooth tones Jim gives into the urge to lean closer. Strangely, Spock makes no complaint or attempt to move away, but shifts infinitesimally closer himself. Jim can feel Spock almost melt against him, rigidity slowly leaking out of firm muscles. Jim frowns in confusion. He thought Vulcans didn’t approve of such close contact. But the night is cool and Jim supposes it’s because Human bodies are warmer than Vulcan ones.

With Spock so very close he can’t help but be acutely aware of his presence; the dry spicy scent of him, the press of shoulder against shoulder, his soft low even breath. He risks a sideways glance and is immediately mesmerized. Spock’s dark outline is lined in the colored lights of the fireworks, the colors washing over him in a kaleidoscope of red, blue, green and gold. They highlight his ears and cheekbones and soften his features, the pyrotechnics reflected in his dark eyes.

Spock turns to look at him and their eyes lock. Jim is suddenly lost. Spock's eyes dart down to Jim’s lips and hesitate for a second before moving to capture Jim’s gaze again. 

Jim swallows and quickly turns away, his heart thudding in his chest. He tries not to look again, forces himself to keep his gaze resolutely on the pyrotechnics, because looking at Spock makes his heart thud almost painfully and his skin tingle. Strangely it causes his left leg to shake too. He can feel tiny tremors running down the length of it, the knee weak.

His chest abruptly feels tight with some unnamed emotion, and he sucks in a slow deep breath, filling his lungs with cool sea air and the whiff of cordite. He can smell too the enticing scent of Spock’s skin, shrouded with the scent of soap and shampoo, and something uniquely Spock.

A swarm of butterflies surge in his stomach, along with a churning sensation as realisation dawns. _What a dumbass! _He knows these feelings, these sensations, has felt them before. Has felt them for another. For Gary.__

His mind spins away from the facts, the urge to retreat in denial beckoning, as an icy wave of shock overtakes him. The ground seems to be rushing away from beneath him, and it feels as if he’s falling. Instinctively he grips the cold metal handrail tightly.

He feels a puzzling mixture of elation and nausea, which is discombobulating to say the least. The blood roars in his ears as his heart pounds hard and fast and he’s sure Spock must hear it. He risks a quick glance at his companion, but Spock seems unaware of his swirling contradictory emotions. 

He’s beyond thankful that Spock not only has, no doubt, multiple layers of clothing in place, but as a touch telepath that shielding he was talking about. 

He searches for some calm as he tries to separate out and pin down some of the maelstrom of conflicting emotions surging through him, but they’re like quick-silver. They flit by in seconds, but to Jim it feels like an age. 

It feels like something weighty is sitting in his chest under his ribs, and he struggles to draw breath. He imagines it’s the realisation of his feelings for Spock, his sudden epiphany. It sits heavy like a stone.

He’s falling for Spock. Falling in love. He experiences a moment of deep and complete panic at the idea. How is it possible? It’s only been fourteen months since Gary died. 

****

They walk in, to Jim’s mind, awkward silence in the cool San Francisco night air. Jim’s glad for the silence, shocked as he is by his new found knowledge, the after-shocks of which are still pulsing through him.

They halt under the soft cone of luminosity tumbling from a street light. 

He has to leave, to go home where he can think clearly, away from Spock’s distracting presence. Spock causes his brain to lose its thread, to drop a stitch. _A fleeting memory of grandma Kirk materializes, sitting out on the porch on warm summer evenings, yarn in her lap, knitting needles clicking, soft curses muttered when yet another stitch is dropped. _His mind is oceans of dropped stitches were Spock is concerned.__

“Jim. Are you well?” Spock asks, voice low and Jim can hear the concern threading through it.

“Yes, of course. Why?”

“You are unusually quiet. It is unlike you.”

“I enjoy listening to you.” Jim hopes that Spock doesn’t interrogate him on what has been said over the last forty minutes or so, as he’s only half aware of the conversation.

“I thought I might have to comm Leonard. I surmised that some illness must have befallen you as I could not envision any other circumstance, other than unconsciousness, likely to render you completely silent for such a length of time.”

Jim forces a watery smile and a light teasing tone. “Are you saying I talk too much?”

An eyebrow rises. “Maybe.” A brief curling of humor before concern once again shades his gaze. “Are you sure you are well?”

“I’m fine Spock. Just a little tired.” His own voice sounds strangled in his ears, and he coughs self-consciously. “Actually, I think I better get going. It’s getting late and I have a paper to finish.” He gives a rueful smile. It’s not exactly a lie.

Spock frowns slightly, and Jim imagines he can detect a flicker of worry and confusion wash over his features. He hates that he’s done this to Spock. That he’s put that worry and concern there. 

“Of course,” Spock says amicably. A pause. “I have found the evening to have been most pleasant.”

“Me too. I’ve had a great time. Thanks for agreeing to spend it with me.”

Spock inclines his head. He doesn’t offer to escort Jim home, and Jim knows it’s because he always refuses the request. 

“I will see you on Saturday at our usual venue?” 

“Of course,” Jim agrees, as he meets Spock’s gaze and twists his lips into a soft smile. But he’s not sure if he can. Saturday afternoons at The Coffee Garden has become a nearly weekly occurrence, and Jim has grown to love their time spent there, spent chatting and occasionally arguing good naturedly over drinks. But everything seems to have changed in the blink of an eye.

“Good night, Jim.” 

“Good night, Spock.” A mix of regret and relief floods him. He gives Spock another quick smile and turns on his heel. He walks away, shoulders hunched, into the night, consumed by a wave of conflicting emotions.


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me ;)

Inside the bar it’s warm and gloomy. It’s also packed, and therefore noisy. The very walls seem to throb with the effort to contain the rising babble of voices set to the backdrop of a pulsing beat. Jim lets the music wash over him, his body bouncing almost imperceptibly to the rhythm, as his foot taps idly against his bar stool.

He’s trying to remain focused on the matter at hand, but Spock continues to worry his way into Jim’s consciousness. He doesn’t want to think about Spock, not yet. He categorically doesn’t want to think of the ramifications of his epiphany and what it means. No way!

But the feelings that punched him in the stomach with all the force of a starship travelling at warp nine on that fateful day have remained, constantly stalking him. He’s tried to dismiss them, naively hoping they’d somehow vanish into the ether, but they stubbornly persist.

He feels an uncomfortable knot tighten in his stomach as he recalls how last week he’d made pathetic excuses as to why he couldn’t keep their regular Saturday afternoon ‘date’ at The Coffee Garden. He’s been making excuses ever since. Not just making excuses but actively avoiding the Vulcan wherever possible.

He knows he’s been unfair to Spock, cowardly too. He’s not proud of it, but he has his reasons, a whole list of them, and they make sense to Jim. Still, he imagines he can read the confusion between the sparse lines of Spock’s communications with him, and all the while shame gnaws at his insides like a carrion beetle. 

The rising self-reproach leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and so with an effort he pushes thoughts of Spock aside and turns his attention to the here and now. His gaze flicks to the drink next to his, a half-finished, brightly-colored glittery Supernova, cocktail stick resting lightly on the red napkin coaster. He eyes the empty seat beside him, the one that belongs to the owner of said cocktail. How long does it take women to visit the restroom anyway?

He sweeps his gaze over the crowded nightclub. He can see no sign of Gaila, not that he can see much in the dark, tightly packed room. On the heaving dance floor the throng bend and sway like the tall corn stalks of Iowa in a late summer breeze. 

He turns back to the bar and stares thoughtfully into his Whiskey glass. 

He thinks back over the evening so far. Tactics before strategy is always fatal. Luckily he’s Jim Kirk and he never makes that mistake. On balance, he reflects, his overall strategy is going pretty well. He knows hacking the Maru and installing his own subroutine will be a piece of cake. He knows how to leave no time or entry and exit discrepancies behind him. He knows every method for covering his tracks. That’s not really the problem. The real problem, he knows, is that if anyone can follow his almost non-existent electronic footprints it’ll be either Spock or Gaila.

But it just might be that either Gaila or Spock or someone else involved with the Maru upgrades could also be its weakest link. Someone, many centuries ago, stated that ‘only amateur’s attack machines, professionals target people.’ He can’t remember who wrote it, but to Jim, (who considers himself just such a professional), it makes perfect sense. People are still one of the frailest links in the security of IT systems, and many successful attacks exploit psychology at least as much as technology.

Thus this evening. He’s just not so sure these particular tactics in support of his long term strategy are paying dividends. For one he suspects he’s being a little too transparent, and a discussion around security engineering, cryptography and authentication protocols, in general terms isn’t gleaning him much useable information. He feels a little exposed too, his approach necessitating letting some intellect show to a small extent. On the plus side it gets him out of the house, which is always welcome.

“Jim,” a soft voice breathes into his ear as Gaila sits down on the bar stool beside his. “Miss me?”

“Terribly,” he deadpans.

She gifts him a dazzling smile. “Where were we?”

He leans closer so she can hear him over the noise. As he draws near waves of flowery perfume assault his senses. He wrinkles his nose. “Cryptography. Actually, I think T’Mira wrote one of the best texts on the subject. Her book _‘Complete Security Engineering’ _is totally the gold standard for networking engineers who need to understand security and cryptography. Of course it’s heavy on the math, but then crypto is fundamentally all about math.”__

He leans back, gives her a smile. “It’s certainly an interesting subject and T’Mira’s overview of why it all goes wrong is really fascinating. You get a real feel for why stuff is done and you don't need the nuts and bolts. It’s amazing how all that stuff works.”

Gaila turns to look at him, casually twirling the cocktail stick in her drink. “Oh, I agree, it’s good. But I find Peltman more accessible. Not only does he write so the layperson can understand what he’s saying, but he also writes with a lot of flair. I find Vulcans a little dry.” She lifts her glass to her lips.

“No, it’s great. It’ll freak your mind,” Jim says, uncomfortably reminded of Spock’s delightfully dry sense of humor. “Actually, other than the math stuff which is unavoidable, the rest of its very readable.”

They continue to talk sat side by side at the bar, as the music and crowd drop away to a background buzz. As the evening wears on Jim slowly moves the conversation towards other topics, because these tactics are a bust. His mind’s not really in the game anyway and eventually he gives up the effort altogether.

“Wanna dance?” he asks, already rising to his feet.

“Sure.” 

She slides off her stool and gazes up at him from under heavy lidded eyes. He feels the lightest of touches as her fingers run over the back of his right hand before her hand slips securely into his. There’s no tingle and Jim brushes aside the sliver of disappointment he feels at the lack of the now familiar sensation. Gaila turns and leads him through the crowd.

On the congested dance floor he tries to move his body in time to the tempo, to the pounding beat that pulses in his veins, but the press of bodies pushes him flush against Gaila. So close he can feel every inch of her. There are so many bodies packed together that dancing is impossible, and they can only sway against each other.

The air is thick with perfume and perspiration. It’s dark and hot, and not a little claustrophobic. Soon he’s slick with sweat, his shirt stuck to his back, his hair stuck to his forehead.

He can smell her heady perfume and underneath those florid notes a hint of something uniquely Gaila emanating from her soft skin. She smells really good, but it doesn’t have the effect on him it normally would. There’s no hint of the dry spice of a skin caressed by warm desert winds.

Refusing to give himself time to think about it, he drops his face to her neck and showers multiple kisses down it. He hears a soft intake of breath and feels her arms tighten around his neck in response. Encouraged, he works his way back up, dropping another line of soft kisses to damp skin. He stops when he reaches her jaw and instead rests his cheek against her hair. They shuffle across the floor, swaying in time to the crush of sweat slicked bodies. And all the while Spock floats around the edges like a wraith.

****

They burst out from the doors of the bar in a gust of noise and heat, into the cooler night air. Gaila is giggling manically.

“That wasn’t dad dancing. It was my own patented granddad dancing. Admit it, it was awesome,” Jim says with a grin, his ears still ringing from the bar.

She rolls her eyes, “Oh, totally awesome.” 

She’s still laughing softly as she loops an arm around his and rests her head on his shoulder. Together they head back towards campus, Gaila’s heels click-clicking on the sidewalk. The streets are largely deserted. They pass only a few other drunken stragglers and the occasional night worker on their way to start their shift. Sporadically, hover cars slip by in flashes of muted color.

A half-moon hangs silvery bright in the clear crisp night. It’s not cold, but after the bar the air feels chilly against their over-heated skin. He can feel goose bumps rise along his arms, and beside him he catches Gaila give a little shiver. He tries to remember, through an alcohol induced haze, if Humans are warmer than Orions. Humans are certainly warmer than Vulcans. Go away brain, you’re so not helping.

He carefully disengages his arm from hers and throws it over her shoulder, from where he can rub his cupped hand gently up and down her arm. She gives a little sigh and leans in closer. 

Half a mile further along and they’re involved in light-hearted competition. 

“You turn my software into hardware,” Jim says, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice.

“Oh, that’s a cheesy one. But kinda appropriate considering what we were discussing earlier,” Gaila says, her voice floating up from where her head still rests against him. 

Jim tries to think of another cheesy chat-up line, but Gaila beats him to it. “Oh, I’ve got a good one.” A beat. “I’d like to interface your paradigm.”

“Yeah, that’s a good one,” he concedes. He looks down at her. “Baby, I’ve got bandwidth to spare.”

Gaila sniggers. 

“What? I have,” he says with mock indignation. She explodes in a fit of hiccupping giggles.

Finally the red-brick dormitories hove into view, shrouded in the soft glow of campus lights. Gaila peels away from his side, grabs hold of his hand and quickens her pace up the slight incline.

Jim lets himself be pulled along as Gaila leads him inside the correct dorm and along the hallways to the room she shares with Uhura. Here Jim hesitates, pulling back until she acknowledges his gentle resistance. She turns to look up at him, eyes shining in the brightness of the corridor.

“What? Aren’t you coming in for a while? It’s still early,” she says, voice low and slightly slurred. 

Jim’s tempted; his sex life is pretty non-existent at present, ever since Gary left. He lets his gaze rake over her body, Gaila’s certainly gorgeous, and he’s certainly still bisexual. But still he finds himself strangely reluctant, and he doesn’t quite know why. It’s true that after Gary died he lost his libido, and maybe that’s still a little relevant, because he’s acutely aware he’s not responding to Gaila how a hot-blooded young male should.

“What about Uhura?” he asks, oddly relieved that he may have an out.

“Not a problem,” Gaila says happily, clearly reading his hesitation as concerns regarding lack of privacy and keen to reassure him. “She’s gone to stay with her brother tonight who’s over visiting the city.” Gaila bends to the retinal scanner and the door swishes open. She looks up at him beguilingly. “We won’t be disturbed.”

“Great!” He forces a grin and follows her inside.

He quickly glances around the room. It’s just a typical dorm room for two. A couple of narrow bunks, study table, chairs, closet space, all the usual.

Gaila walks back towards him with a warm smile. She reaches up and loops her arms around his neck, pressing her body against him. He leans back against the door, looking down at her, as his own arms slip around her waist.

She gives a little chuckle. “Your eyes are bluer than the ocean, and honey, I’m lost at sea.”

“Lost at sea, eh? You just wait until I initiate warp drive, we’ll be shooting for the stars.”

“And with that you win the cheesiest pick-up line award.”

He pouts. “That was one of my best lines.”

“Really?” she says, trying to suppress a giggle.

He grins down at her with genuine warmth, and pulls her closer still. He bends his head to her ear. “Really,” he whispers, before proceeding to trail kisses along her jaw line.

He empties his mind, focusing all his attention on Gaila, warm in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: "Only amateurs attack machines; professionals target people."  
> — Bruce Schneier  
> (American cryptographer, computer security specialist, and writer).


	25. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This comes in at about 5,000 words. Yeah, I know, I'm long-winded ;)

It’s a dark night, the moon casting little light. It’s cooler than it was earlier too, but the alcohol coursing through Jim’s veins insulates him well enough. He skirts the edge of the dorms, making his way unsteadily towards the campus exit. He’s lost in the continuous loop of his own thoughts, the ones that have plagued him since that fateful Federation Day evening. 

He’s not sure how to respond to these newly acknowledged feelings for Spock. But surely he should know, after all he’s been in love before. He thinks back to the day at the beach when he realized how hot he thought Spock was. If only it was just attraction. That he could handle. This, this is something…else. He’s not sure he can deal with it under the circumstances. The circumstances in Jim’s mind being Gary.

Jim still thinks about Gary often. He still misses him, not on a daily basis or as his boyfriend anymore; he knows that’s gone forever. It’s more that he misses him at specific moments, such as when a sound, or sight or piece of music triggers a rush of fragmented memories to resurface. He misses him when he has a joke or a piece of news to share, or in the quiet seconds before sleep, in the gap where dream and reality merge, when his skin tingles with the remembered impression of Gary’s warm embrace, the recollected tickle of soft breath on the back of his neck. He misses him whenever he captures the almost imperceptible whiff of a certain aftershave, and for a fraction of a second Jim forgets, and turns his head to scan a crowded city street, looking for someone no longer there.

Recently, however, Spock occupies as much of his thoughts as Gary does. He glances to his right. Beyond the blanketing darkness he knows the ground rises steadily up a grassy incline, to meet the towering perimeter wall. Just a few weeks previously he’d sat on that slope under the stippled canopy of a Chinese Elm discussing gravitational waves with Spock, before informing Bones he was moving on to Plan B. Had he abandoned Plan A because of his feelings for Spock (subconscious as such awareness was back then)? He doesn’t know, though he suspects it might be the case.

Now here he is, in love with Spock. Isn’t he? It sure feels like it, but he doesn’t quite trust that he knows what love is anymore. How can he when it seems he’s moved on so quickly from Gary? How soon is too soon? He feels uneasy as unfamiliar feelings course through him. He never thought he’d be in this situation.

Jim always thought of grief as akin to shuffling down a long dark painful tunnel. At first the tunnel seems endless, and you think you’ll never escape the darkness. But eventually, at some point you do reach the end, to emerge blinking and raw into watery sunlight. In time, he imagines, you’re able to move on and pick up the pieces, maybe even meet someone else and fall in love again, (unless you’re Winona, of course). A single undeviating thread. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work? Only it doesn’t seem to be working like that. Instead it feels like his life has frayed into separate non-linear strands, one his past, the other his present. He doesn’t understand how to bind them back together, having no previous experience to guide him.

He scrubs his hands over his face and releases a groan. How can he hold what seems like two mutually exclusive feelings inside at the same time, grief and sadness for Gary and love for Spock? He doesn’t know how to even begin accommodating the wildly contrasting emotions. He feels confused, sad and even a little guilty.

His thoughts scatter as he realizes that almost not of his own volition his feet have taken him to the dorms where the cadets on the medical track are housed.

He hesitates. He should head home, but finds himself reluctant. He hates to admit it but he doesn’t want to be alone. He doesn’t want to head back across the bay to be met by no one other than a dark barren house that no longer echoes with Gary’s voice. That no longer echoes with anything other than the sounds Jim fills it with.

He glances up at the doors before him. He doesn’t have to be alone. Bones will take care of him. He always does. Jim exhales a soft breath and lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck as he debates whether it’s a good idea or not. It’s not too late. He’s fairly sure Bones won’t mind the imposition. He’ll either be on the graveyard shift at the clinic and Jim will just crash on his bed or floor or whatever, or he’ll be there and it’ll only be a minor inconvenience for Jim to wake him. Besides, Jim reasons, Bones is most probably still awake.

Before the part of him that whispers that he’s being an inconsiderate ass can gain the upper hand, he quickly punches in the code for the doors and enters the building. Once inside he moves swiftly down the halls conscious of the unseen gaze of the security feed marking his progress. 

However, as his destination comes into view, his pace slows as a tiny grain of doubt wafts in on his mind’s breeze. This is a bad idea. But he only has to think of going home and his hand is reaching out to activate the door chime. As the seconds tick by with no response, Jim reluctantly concludes that Bones isn’t home. He’s surprised just how disappointed that makes him feel. Just as he’s about to activate the scanner to unlock the door he catches the low cadence of muffled curses, before the door suddenly slides open to reveal a half-naked disheveled Bones, hair sticking up in all directions.

Bones’ eyes widen in surprise. “Jim!” The surprise is immediately replaced with concern. “What’s wrong? What are you doing here at this hour?” His gaze slides sideways to look at something outside Jim’s line of vision. “Goddamnit Jim! It’s 01:40. What the hell?”

Jim’s stomach sinks. He thought it was about midnight late, not early hours of the morning late. Bones looks tired and Jim is immediately contrite for having woken his friend at this godforsaken hour. He murmurs an apology and makes to move away, staggering slightly as he does so. Bones reaches out and drags him inside with surprising strength.

Jim hears the door behind him glide shut with a gentle whoosh.

Before Jim can gather his wits Bones has already pulled on sweat pants and a t-shirt with the practiced ease of a trained medic used to responding to an emergency. He advances on Jim with a medical tricorder.

“You don’t look as though you’ve been in a fight,” Bones says, waving the machine in front of him.

“That’ll be because I haven’t been in a fight, Bones. Contrary to common misconception, I’m not always fighting.” Jim swats at the tricorder irritably. Though he knows he can’t blame Bones for thinking otherwise, not after turning up on his doorstep many a late night, bleeding and bruised in the weeks after Gary’s death.

“I didn’t say you were kid,” Bones says softly, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he studies the device. Evidently satisfied with the results of the scan, he turns away, dropping the tricorder onto his desk, before rummaging through the drawer.

“Aha!” Bones turns back to him, bottle and two glasses in hand.

“Drinking Bones? So late?”

“Well, I reckon I might need it.” His expression turns dark. “It must be serious if you’re paying me non-medical calls at this godforsaken time of the night.”

Before Jim can respond, Bones has thrust one of the glasses towards him and Jim automatically reaches to take it.

“You’ve been drinking already.” Bones leans in a little closer and sniffs, “and did you happen to trip and fall into a giant vat of rose petals on your way here?” He raises a quizzical brow.

“Gaila’s perfume,” Jim clarifies.

The eyebrow hitches higher, “Gaila, eh?”

“It’s not what you think,” Jim says defensively, embarrassment pooling in his stomach at the memory.

Bones pours a little of the bourbon into Jim’s glass. “You don’t know what I think! But, I suspect you’ve been moving certain plans along that we _both _agreed _won’t _be involving me.” Bones rakes a calculating gaze over him. “But that’s not why you’re here, is it?”____

Bones can read him so well, even a Bones just rudely awoken from the land of slumber. He knew it was a bad idea coming here. But why did he come here, other than to avoid going home, if not for the desire, even if only subconsciously, to talk? At least talking will set the swirling confusing thoughts free from the confines of his head where they are currently slowly driving him to distraction. Things might make a little more sense if he can have an outside view from someone he trusts.

Still, he’s uncomfortable with the raw emotion this discussion is likely to bring forth, thus the need for liberal quantities of alcohol. With that in mind he drains his glass in one long gulp and swallows with a grimace as the amber liquid burns its way down his throat. 

Bones lowers himself onto the bed, placing the bottle on the floor at his feet before shuffling back until he’s resting against the wall the bed is pushed against. He lifts his glass to his lips and takes a long sip, all the while never taking his eyes from Jim. The scrutiny makes Jim shift uncomfortably and he rather suspects that from where Bones sits he has the disquieting air of a caged animal.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, voice low.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Bones says, waving an irritable hand. “Don’t apologize. Believe it or not, I consider this an improvement. Certainly much better than when you insisted on locking yourself away like some elderly recluse in that cold decrepit pile of bricks you call a home.”

Bones pats the bed beside him. “Sit down Jim, and tell me what’s got you turning up at this unholy hour of the night.”

Jim can hear the concern threading through his friends soft southern lilt, and in response he feels a bit of his tension leak away, stiffness easing from rigid shoulders. Resigned, he slips out of his jacket, kicks off his boots, pours himself another drink and sits on the bed next to Bones, scooting back until he, too, is leaning against the wall.

Silence descends like a veil. Jim wishes they were sharing a bottle of bourbon and talking about something other than grief, which to Jim’s mind they’ve spent too many hours talking about already. Even if the only time they’ve _really _talked about it in fourteen months is three times, if that.__

“So, not going to start the conversation?”

“There’s nothing to say. I was just passing by and…” Jim mumbles. It sounds lame even to his own ears.

Bones gives a snort of disbelief. “Yeah, and I’m the goddamn tooth fairy.”

“I didn’t realize the tooth fairy recruitment agency were that desperate,” Jim says, trying to delay the conversation he’s yearning to have for a few seconds longer.

Bones huffs a lethargic chuckle and shakes his head, before turning to Jim expectantly. “Well then?”

If they are going to be having this conversation, then Jim knows he needs to get to the point, which he will, eventually.

“When is it supposed to stop? The grieving I mean.”

“Remember what I’ve said before, there isn’t a time limit on grief. You can’t quantify it.”

“Yeah, but it ends at some point, right?”

“I don’t know that it ever really ends,” Bones murmurs, voice a soft and weary rumble, his southern accent as thick as molasses.

Jim frowns at him. This is not what he wants to hear, which is strange as only a few months ago he never wanted to let go of the heart-rending grief, feeling as he did that it kept him closer to Gary, somehow.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, grief dulls with time. The old ‘time is a great healer’ cliché is just that, a cliché, but it’s generally true,” a beat, “but a loss will always be a loss, a gap no one else can fill. That empty space will always be there, like a missing jigsaw piece. Oh, you’ll learn to accommodate it, learn to build a new life around it, and over time it’ll shrink, enough that you’re no longer constantly aware of it. But it’ll never disappear completely, and that’s how it should be.”

Jim doesn’t really know how to respond to that. But he doesn’t doubt that Bones is telling the truth, hell, he knows as much from recent heart-rending experience.

The quiet sadness in Bones voice pulls Jim from his thoughts. “Losing Gary will never completely leave you.” He pauses for what seems an age. “Hell, it’ll never quite leave any of us who had the privilege of knowing him.”

Jim nudges closer pressing the side of his body against Bones briefly in silent support and sorrow and he feels Bones press back fleetingly in response.

Bones exhales a soft sigh. “Don’t misunderstand me, Jim. I don’t mean it never ends in the sense of your mother who, as far as I can see, slammed the brakes on her life when the _Kelvin _was lost. That’s no damn way to live.”__

“It’s not like….” Jim starts to protest but he snaps his mouth shut as he realizes that Bones is only stating what’s true. Winona _has _seemingly found a way to sustain her sorrow at a low simmer for a nearly a quarter of a century.__

Bones pulls away from the wall, shifting position so that he is sitting at right angles to Jim. Jim inwardly groans. This is the last way he wants this to go, with Bones reading his every expression and every nuance of body language. He suspects that’s exactly why Bones has done it.

“What I mean is that life will never be the same, but it does go on, and you learn to smile again,” a beat, “hell if you’re really lucky...love again.” Bones says, expression reminiscent of someone chewing a wasp.

Jim takes a breath and tries to keep his voice casual. “How do you know when you’re ready to love again?”

Bones lifts his glass to his lips and takes another swallow. “When are you ready? There’s no set time, circumstances differ.”

Jim nods slowly and looks down at his lap where his drink sits, cradled in his hands. He gathers his nerve. “Is it possible to be grieving and in love at the same time? I mean, could a person fall in love while still grieving?”

He glances back up at Bones as the last word falls from his lips.

Bones purses his lips. “I think it’s certainly possible,” he says, slowly. “I think it’s important to realize that if you think you can only love again once you stop grieving you’ll be waiting a lifetime. Look at your mom.”

Jim nods again, absently. “But wouldn’t it be kinda weird, a bit disrespectful?”

“Why would it? Sorry to be brutal here but you can’t offend the dead. They have no feelings to hurt.” Bones must read something in his expression and his eyes narrow. “Where are you heading with this?”

Jim shrugs and lets his gaze roam the room, anything to avoid Bones’ steady scrutiny. But he knows it’s now or never. He blows out a long breath, gathers his courage. “I think I’m in love…with Spock.” _There, I’ve said it. ___

He can hear sudden coughing and spluttering and Jim obligingly reaches across to pat Bones on the back.

He wants to laugh at Bones’ reaction, but at the same time he feels his stomach drop in dismay, both at having spoken it aloud and publicly acknowledged it and the knowledge of what it means. He takes another fleeting moment to wonder at the odd sensation, the conflicting emotions of love and sorrow squeezing his chest.

Composure sufficiently regained Bones favors Jim with a dark scowl, before inspecting the damp patch on his t-shirt where the spat liquid hit. “Damn waste of perfectly good bourbon,” he mutters. He has such a lugubrious hang-dog expression that Jim almost laughs.

“It’s probably for the best. Why are we drinking in the early hours of the morning again?”

“Well, now we’re drinking at this godforsaken hour because you’ve just landed that bolt from the blue in my lap.”

“Finney’s probably got the right idea, maybe we should join him,” Jim muses, attempting to delay a little further discussion of his confession. An attempt he knows will prove futile.

“Why ever for? The one thing I’ll say about teetotalers is their day never gets any damn better.” Bones shoots him a sharp glare. ”You’re not changing the subject that easily. You can’t just drop a bombshell like that and then just mosey on like nothing happened. Because damn…Spock!”

“Why not Spock?” Jim asks, defensiveness flaring. “He’s intelligent, considerate, funny, and to coin a phrase, ‘fascinating’.”

“Funny?” Bones says, eyebrows ascending to his hairline.

“Yeah, granted it’s a very dry wit, but there’s no denying it, he has a great sense of humor.” Jim raises his own eyebrow. “Why, don’t you think he’s funny?”

“Oh, I think he’s funny. About as funny as a photon torpedo strike on an orphanage.”

Jim flashes a grin. “Bones, you know you’re his number one fan. Don’t deny it.”

Bones fixes a steady gaze upon him. “Seems like I’m way behind you in the number one fan stakes,” he says wryly.

Jim feels his cheeks warm. “Yeah, I guess,” he responds, smiling sheepishly.

For a moment Bones is silent before releasing a long breath. “Well, you certainly pitched this right out of left field. Does Spock feel the same way?”

Jim shrugs. “No idea. I don’t think so,” he says, as a strange tightening sensation fills his chest, because that’s all he needs. The sting of unrequited love.

“Why not? He seems to like you well enough. Half the time you’re all over each other like a goddamn rash.”

“We are not!” Jim says indignantly.

“Humph. Whatever you say, kid,” Bones mutters.

Silence falls over the dimly lit room, and to Jim’s mind it’s a little heavy, but he makes no attempt to lift it, instead letting Bones absorb his admission.

Bones glances back up at him. “So, this is why you’re paying me night calls. You’re conflicted because you’ve fallen for Spock and you think that’s disrespectful to Gary’s memory?”

“Pretty much,” agrees Jim. “I mean it’s only been fourteen months and it was only a few months ago I felt like there was a fucking great big ragged hole inside that was just growing bigger every day.”

“And now?” Bones says softly.

“Now it feels like someone stitched the hole back together. It’s still angry and raw, but it’s no longer gaping.” He hesitates. “What I don’t get is why, if the sadness is still there, have I fallen for Spock? I just don’t understand how it happened.”

He looks back to Bones, jaw tight, voice dropping to almost a whisper, “how was I ready for it to happen?”

Bones lips quirk. “Not sure why you’re asking me about feelings. But, I guess feelings often don't make sense. They're not supposed to, I think. They just are!”

Jim nods and lifts his glass to his lips to take a swig of bourbon. He shouldn’t have said anything. But it’s too late now. The cat is out of the bag, at least where Bones is concerned.

“So what are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know. I do know that I don’t want to be going over and over the same stuff in my head, everything that’s history, everything that’s no longer possible. I don’t want to turn into my mom. But how can I close that chapter so quickly? It’s not even been two years. If I move on with Spock it just proves all the naysayers correct.”

“What naysayers?” Bones says frowning.

“Oh, you know people who say, ‘you can’t have loved him very much,’ and ‘well it didn’t take you long did it,’ all the ones who’ll say you’ve not grieved long enough,” Jim says, voice laced with a tinge of bitterness even though he tries to strip it of expression.

“Who says that?” Bones says incredulously, brows shooting back to his hairline like hyperactive caterpillars.

“Everyone…probably!” 

Bones rolls his eyes. “When has James Kirk ever worried about what other people think, or for that matter let other people define him?”

“Never!” Jim says adamantly.

“Well, that’s agreed then. It’s no one else’s damn business.”

“But…” Jim starts to say but is cut off by Bones.

“People come into our lives at what seems to be the wrong time, but actually often turns out to be the right time.” 

Jim silently agrees. In his more fanciful moments he sometimes feels as though Gary somehow approves of Spock, almost as though he put Spock in Jim’s way, so that they could find each other. He knows that can’t be right, they never met each other. Gary surely would have said something if they had.

“Who knows, it may or may not be sensible to move your relationship with Spock to something more than friendship. It may be too soon, it may not. But it could also be the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“I thought Gary was the best thing that ever happened to me. Look what happened there.” Jim’s throat constricts and he drops his gaze to his lap.

“Then you’re luckier than most. Most people never get the chance of such happiness once, never mind twice.”

He must look unconvinced because Bones gives a little sigh. “Surely losing Gary has taught you the most important thing?”

Jim looks up sharply. “And what’s that?”

“That our time on this damn rock is just too short. We’re all just transient chemical experiments with a one-hundred percent expiry date. Sadly, for some of us that expiry date is shorter than anyone has a damn right to expect. So as hard as it may be there comes a point when we need to find joy in life again.”

Bones pats his knee in reassurance. “Who knows where these feelings for Spock may lead, maybe nowhere. But sometimes you just have to take a chance, if you don’t you could live to regret it. It’s not disrespectful to Gary. He would want you to be happy. You know that. He adored you.”

Jim swallows around the sudden, painful tightness in his throat. “Yeah, I know.”

He’s never allowed anyone to see him cry, other than that time with Winona. Even with Bones, who has unfailingly been his port, his refuge, in the stormy oceans of grief over the last fourteen months, he’s never allowed himself to cry. Hell, for that matter, he’s never seen Bones cry. It’d be just too strange and unsettling. So he resolves he’s not going to start now.

“You deserve to be happy.”

Jim looks up at him and flashes a lop-sided smile in gratitude.

Bones smiles back. “Just remember two things,” he says gently.

“What?”

“One, Spock isn’t the missing jigsaw piece, so don’t try and force him into the gap left by Gary. Take Spock for who he is, not a copy of what you’ve lost.”

“I know that,” Jim says softly.

“Secondly, just be careful. Bear in mind Spock’s an alien and he has his own unique needs, which won’t necessarily correspond with your needs as a Human.”

“I know that too, Bones,” Jim says, jaw tightening.

Bones nods, apparently satisfied with Jim’s response.

They lapse back into silence. Jim wonders what made him confide all this. Maybe it’s something to do with the intimacy of the situation, their closeness in the dimly lit room, the booze, his need to unburden himself of the confusing thoughts and feelings. Whatever it was, he realizes he’s relieved, unutterably glad that he spilled all this. Bones has let him glimpse things through a different filter. He feels a sudden rush of affection for his friend. “Thanks, Bones.” It's not enough. It's not nearly enough for all Bones has done for him. But at the moment it’s all he has.

“Anytime, kid.”

Jim glances at the chronometer, grimaces. Guilt flutters inside at the fact that he’s lost Bones so many hours of precious sleep.

He slides a glance towards Bones, who is staring rather pensively into the bottom of his nearly empty glass, a thumb rubbing against it absently. Bones lets loose a long breath. “I don’t mind admitting that for a time I was worried about you.” He lifts his gaze back to Jim. “Don’t get me wrong, I know you were grieving, as we all were, but you’re such a social animal and when you just shut yourself off like that…well, it was a bit unnerving.”

Bones lifts his glass to his lips and drains it. “Even more so when you suddenly started bounding around campus full of the joys of spring.”

A memory stirs. _Bones carries on, ignoring Jim’s interruption, barely drawing breath. “Now suddenly you’re grinning like the cat that’s got the cream and bounding around campus like Bambi on acid.” He gives a shudder. “At one point I even thought you were going to break out in a song and dance routine in the mess.” ___

“Like Bambi on acid,” Jim says softly.

Bones shoots him a sharp glance. “Yeah, exactly like that.”

“So!” Jim says with a shrug. “I thought we both agreed that I should be happy. I thought you just reiterated your desire to see me happy tonight.”

“We did,” agrees Bones. “It’s just that one minute you were in the depths of despair and the next you were the happiest I’d seen you in months.” Bones hesitates. “What’s more you were happiest at the very time where I was expecting you to falter.”

“What do you mean?” Jim can feel himself frown.

“Well, most widows and people grieving in general tend to dread the first anniversary of the death. There’s usually plenty of angst building towards the date and on the day in question, not unexpected considering it’s the anniversary of the worst day in their lives. It’s hard for anyone to have a positive outlook in that situation.” His voice trails off.

“You said there was no right or wrong way to grieve,” Jim growls defensively, panic rising. How could he have been so stupid? To be publicly happy on the anniversary of Gary’s death. _Too wrapped up in Gary’s miraculous return from the dead that’s why. ___

Jim suddenly realizes with a jolt of shock that it’s yet another precious gift Gary has bestowed on him. He made the very anniversary that Jim had been dreading so much painless. Not only painless, but full of happiness, at least for a few short weeks. Jim feels something constrict almost painfully in his chest, before the tight knot of emotion unravels, spreading warmth through him.

“Hey, I’m not judging you Jim. “ Bones says, soothingly. “What I meant was, what I’m trying to say, and obviously not making a very good job of it, is that I was worried about you for a time.” He leans forward to look into Jim eyes, and Jim can see the sincerity reflected there. “But now, now I’m not. You’re doing really well, all things considered.”

This isn’t the way Jim envisioned the conversation going, not that he really envisioned a conversation anyway. But hell! How callous he must have appeared to all his friends when they were mourning the anniversary of Gary’s death, and yet this significant date passed him by in a blur of bliss because Gary was home again. It must have looked like he never cared, like he never loved Gary, and nothing could be further from the truth.

He hears Bones’ voice saying something to him, and so he tries to concentrate on the words, lifts his head to look at him.  


Bones reaches out and grasps his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “I would never judge you, you know that.” Bones voice is a husky, almost catatonic growl. “You exasperate the hell out of me sometimes. You’ve given me grey hairs. But I’d never judge you.”

“I know that, Bones.”

“What, you know you’ve given me grey hairs?”

Jim cloaks the tumult of emotions still surging through him in a blinding smile. Bones grins back.

“Anyway I don’t know about you, but I’m beat,” says Bones wearily. He stands and stretches before reaching down to pick up the half empty bottle. His gaze flicks to Jim’s glass, still cradled in his hands. “Are you drinking that or getting married to it?”

Jim nods and tosses back the drink, draining the glass in one gulp before handing it to Bones. He stands a little stiffly, and attempts to work the kinks out of his back and shoulders, the result of sitting too long in one position. He scrubs a hand over tired and gritty eyes.

Bones has put the glass and bottle away somewhere and is already spreading a blanket and pillow on the floor beside his bed. ”You can stay here, too late for you to head back home anyway. The uniform you left here on your last night call is in the closet, so you’ll be ready for classes tomorrow. Don’t worry it’s clean. I had it laundered.”

“You’re a true southern gentleman, Bones.”

“Not that much of a one because you’re sleeping on the floor. I don’t fancy waking up tomorrow with your morning wood pressing against my ass.” Bones grouses, back to his usual irascible self. “There isn’t enough brain bleach in California to deal with that mental trauma.” He gives a mock shudder.

“Ahh Bones, we could spoon the other way. I wouldn’t be at _all _averse to your morning wood pressing against my ass.” Jim waggles his eyebrows at him.__

“I wonder how Spock doesn’t find you insufferable. I know I do,” Bones mutters irritably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all who continue to read and comment (and leave kudos). It's very much appreciated :)


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

Jim suffers a moment of disorienting half sleep before he groggily cracks open an eye. Fragments of a disjointed dream linger still on the edges of his consciousness, where they had fled as Jim reached the dizzying abyss before full awareness. He is left with impressions only; the weight of an embrace against him, the touch of skin against skin, the tickle of soft breath on his neck. He’s also hard, rock hard. He utters a soft curse.

He flicks a glance at the chronometer. It’s nearly six in the morning and Jim knows he’s not going to get anymore sleep, but even so he makes no move to get up, electing instead to continue journeying to full wakefulness while trying to keep his mind blank so that his erection will dissipate enough that he can go and empty his bladder.

How many times has he dreamt of Spock? Not every night, thankfully. But when he does, he always wakes hot and heavy, yet strangely bereft.

His gaze slides to the window. Watery morning sunlight bleeds its way softly onto the sill through the gaps in the blind. Jim watches it creep across the floor from where he lies sprawled in the bed, its pale light adorning the room and dousing the shadows. 

The alarm clock sounds, the noise discordant in the still bedroom. He blearily reaches out a hand and flaps it in the general vicinity of the motion sensor to silence it.

With a soft groan he throws the bedcovers back in one rapid movement and sits up, swinging his legs to the floor. For a few moments he sits there, forearms resting on his thighs, listening. The house is quiet. Far too quiet. Sleep still fogs his brain. He can’t have had much sleep last night as his eyes burn from the lack of it, and he absently scrubs a hand across them.

Stifling a yawn, he slowly stands, stretching until his spine gives a satisfying pop. He shakes his head to clear the last few remnants of still clinging sleep away, and then heads to the bathroom to get ready.

As he makes his way there, he picks up his discarded clothes en-route and drops them in the recycler. He attends to his most pressing need first, and after emptying his bladder he goes to stand at the sink in front of the small mirror.  


Jim regards his reflection, and with some surprise notes that he looks better than he feels. He runs fingers through sleep disheveled hair, scratching idly at an itch, as he debates whether to bother shaving.

There’s certainly no reason to, it’s Saturday and he has nowhere in particular he needs to be. Tomorrow is a different story; he has a full day at the Academy waiting, but today belongs to him.

Deciding against a shave he reaches for the toothpaste and begins brushing his teeth at a leisurely pace, making a deliberate effort to plan his day’s activities rather than dwell on other more disquieting thoughts.

He steps into the shower and scrubs himself clean before lathering his hair in shampoo. He tries to empty his mind as he lets the hot water flow over him. If only it was that easy. It’s not, as Spock simply refuses to be dislodged from Jim’s brain. He thinks about Spock constantly. Just thinking about him makes Jim’s heart beat a little faster and causes warmth to pool in his stomach.

Jim tries not to think about eminently kissable lips, warm brown eyes and elegantly pointed ears. Desperately tries not to visualize water droplets glistening like tiny glass beads as they slide over smooth olive-tinted skin.

As Jim feels his body respond he stops fighting his mounting lust and gives free rein to his fantasies. He trails soapy fingers slowly down his body before wrapping them firmly around his rising cock. Leaning his other arm against the cool wet tile, he lets his eyes fall shut as he begins a slow rhythm.

_Jim ghosts his hands reverently over Spock’s chest, leaving a soapy trail in their wake, nails grazing erect nipples. Suddenly, Spock’s breath caresses Jim’s ear as the Vulcan pushes his body flush against him. Giving in to desire, Jim leans forward to nuzzle the sensitive skin beneath Spock’s ear, before licking a wet stripe slowly up the graceful curve. When he reaches the tip he gives a soft nip, and feels Spock shudder against him. ___

A soft strangled moan breaks free, and Jim’s thumb sweeps over the tip of his cock, pre-come and soap blending together, as he picks up the pace.

_Spock nuzzles and licks at Jim’s throat and jaw before covering his lips with a bruising kiss. Jim is more than willing to kiss back with equal force, his hands tangling in Spock’s wet hair. One of Spock’s hands is fisted tightly in Jim’s own hair and the other grips his hip, keeping him in place. The kiss grows in heat. Spock nibbles at Jim’s lower lip, seeking entry. Jim grants it. ___

_Eventually, Jim breaks the kiss, gasping for oxygen. Spock trails kisses across Jim’s jaw and down his neck. Jim lets his hands travel down Spock’s back, leisurely mapping out the terrain there, as Spock sets his teeth around Jim’s collarbone and sucks a bruise to the surface. Jim groans. ___

Jim adds an extra twist and jerk of his hand on every upstroke, his hips rocking to the quickening rhythm. He hisses in pleasure, his breath coming in soft pants.

_Spock traps Jim’s wrists in his hand and pins them to the tiled wall, holding Jim securely, yet gently, in place. Jim doesn’t resist. ___

He knows he can't hold back for much longer, he can feel the tension coil as he reaches the vertiginous precipice before release. His fantasy shifts.

_Jim is facing the wall, hands braced against the tile. A chest is pressed against his back as a cool hand runs teasingly down Jim’s stomach to wrap around Jim’s hand on his cock. Long, supple fingers start pumping and squeezing in time with Jim’s. The constant stimulus against his prostate ignites sparks along every bodily nerve ending as Spock thrusts quickly into him. ___

_He lets out a long blissful moan. In response, Spock moves his hand more quickly up and down Jim’s shaft, increasing the pressure. The hand snaked around his waist drags him closer, pressing him against Spock’s body. ___

_Rough kisses are dropped on his shoulders and neck, before surprisingly sharp teeth dig into his shoulder._

Jim’s vision whites out and waves of pleasure roll through his body, crashing like surf against the shore. He comes against the shower wall, crying out Spock’s name.  


He groans deeply and leans forward, to rest his head against the wall, panting as he tries to remember to breathe. In his mind’s eye he finishes his fantasy, just to torture himself some more.

_He turns to Spock and drops his head to his shoulder, his hands resting on Spock’s slim hips like they belong there. He feels Spock pull back slightly to press a soft kiss to his temple, before pulling him close. ___

Jim comes back to himself when he realizes the water has turned nearly cold. He quickly rinses the shampoo from his hair and his bodily fluids from the wall, and steps out of the shower.

He hurriedly dries and dresses and goes around the house, selecting a favorite playlist in one room, switching on the portable holo-vid in the kitchen, ensuring that he never has to enter a silent room, filling the house with noise and a sense of activity.

He goes to the living room where he turns on the holo-vid intent on grabbing some breakfast and eating it in front of the newsfeeds.

Breakfast is toast thinly coated with Aurie’s latest experiment in preserving fruit, an interesting combination of peach and maple syrup. It has a rich, sweet flavor. It’s a little too sweet for Jim’s tastes, but he thinks Bones would appreciate the honeyed tartness of the peaches. He accompanies this with an apple and a large mug of excellent filter coffee, which cost a few credits more, but is so worth it.

Morning sunlight streams through the windows, bathing the room in a golden glow, and Jim can feel the comforting warmth from where he sits on the sofa.

In the lulling balminess his mind begins to wander. His most recent thoughts vacillate constantly between Gary and Spock. However, they always drift away from Gary to focus on Spock. He keeps conjuring up the Vulcan’s image in his mind. He misses Spock’s presence - his non-smile, his warmth and humor. His dreams are full of Spock. It’s driving him crazy.

Is it possible to miss the love he shared with Gary at the same time as loving someone else?  


He’s acutely aware that when you let yourself care you become vulnerable, you open yourself up to pain. Look what happened with Gary. Look what happened with his dad. Look what happened on Tar… he cuts that thought off before it can coalesce further. If they don’t die, they leave, like Sam, like Winona. They always leave one way or another. They never stay.

He’s beginning to suspect that he’s jinxed. Everyone and anything he ever cared about has been taken from him, often at death’s hands. He doesn’t want that to happen to Spock. He can’t let it happen to Spock. _The grim reaper could be your understudy. ___

But he misses Spock; it’s no use pretending otherwise. Surely being friends can’t hurt. Running away isn’t solving anything. It can only lose him Spock’s regard which he values too highly to lose through his own fears and stupidity.

He looks longingly at his discarded PADD on the coffee table. Should he send Spock a message? Yeah, he definitely should. Indeed an apology is long overdue. It’s Saturday too, their day for meeting at The Coffee Garden. He misses the long summer afternoons spent with Spock, often in the back yard of the café, the scent of flowers heady and cloying in the air, as they talk long into the evening over coffee and tea.

He picks up the small slim PADD, opens a window and sends Spock a quick message, requesting a meeting later at the café. He doesn’t want to sit around waiting for a response he knows he doesn’t deserve, so he gets up and goes out to the back yard, intending to do some work on the long ignored garden.

Outside, Jim inhales a lungful of fresh sun-warmed morning air, before turning to inspect the small garden. As he suspected the flower beds around the path are choked with weeds. He feels a trickle of guilt quickly wash through him; he shouldn’t have been so neglectful. This is the garden they built together.

He sets to work weeding and pruning. An hour or so later he stands to inspect his handiwork. He notes with a smile of satisfaction that the garden looks a lot tidier. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck, massaging out the kinks, before sweeping the path clear of bits of soil and weed. That done he goes indoors to wash up.

He checks his PADD. No message from Spock. He swallows down his disappointment. _Give him a chance. You sent the message barely two hours ago. _Jim has to admit he’s not a very patient man.__

“More cloud during the afternoon will turn the sunshine increasingly hazy,” a bright and breezy feminine voice intones before he flicks off the holo-vid.

He slips his PADD into a back pocket and leaves the house, the door locking with a soft click behind him. He has another appointment to keep.

****

He’s playing games on the PADD, winning skirmishes with renegade Klingons in the neutral zone. He gives an internal cheer as he moves up a level.

He’s fortunate to advance at all, given his gaze keeps flicking to the incoming mail icon in the bottom corner of his PADD, concentration not totally on the game. Eventually he pays the price for his lack of attention as his starship explodes against the star strewn backdrop in a fiery blaze of orange and red. “Damn,” he curses softly.

A chuckle emanates from the hair stylist, currently stood just behind his chair, trimming his locks. Jim shuts off the PADD in irritation. 

Once back outside, hair neatly clipped, he checks his PADD for incoming messages, nervous anticipation thrumming through him, only to feel the bitter sting of disappointment when he sees there’s still no response from Spock.

Pushing down his frustration, he pockets his PADD and walks slowly home. It’s still mid-morning, but the day is already bright and sunny. The hum of the city surrounds him. The distant barking of a dog drifts to him on a barely perceptible breeze, along with the monotonous drone of a mower-bot.

He turns onto his street and walks beneath a shady canopy of green, glints of a cloudless blue sky showing in the gaps. The sweet fragrance of champaca blooms blend with the scent of freshly mown grass. To his right, on the horizon, the Pacific has a pearly sheen to it as it glints in the bright sunshine. It’s on days like this that Jim wishes he still had his bike. What could be better than a long ride along the coast, the wind in his hair, free to go wherever he chooses?

He’s almost at his door when Mrs. Bachowski approaches him, clearly about to set off for a walk with her young dog.

_Let go, _he tells himself, but after briefly examining his feelings he’s momentarily surprised to find he feels no resentment at all. Any residual anger has also drained away. Anger that many people live well into their dotage when Gary never even made it to twenty-five. But he finds he’s now unexpectedly sanguine about it. People die all the time, both young and old.__

He favors her with a warm smile.

“Hello, James.” She gifts him a bright, sunny smile of her own. “This is Harry,” she says indicating the young dog.

The dog is eagerly sniffing Jim, tail wagging. Jim cautiously, slowly drops his hand for Harry to sniff, before reaching to scratch the dog behind a floppy ear. “Harry, how’re doing boy, eh?” he says, knowing that Mrs. Bachowski expects him to greet her beloved pet. Harry’s busy tail becomes a blur.

“It’s lovely to see you again James, and you look so well and happy. How are you feeling?” she asks, squinting up at him.

He looks down at her to where her head, with its shock of steel grey hair, barely meets his shoulder. “I feel fine, Mrs. Bachowski.”

“Such a tragic business,” she mutters.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “How are you?” he adds quickly, attempting to divert her.

“Oh, you know the usual,” she says, before going on to enlighten him at length about her struggles with arthritis.

Jim suspects she’s a bit of a hypochondriac as he’s reasonably certain there’s pretty much a cure for that particular disease. It is after all the 23rd century. So he simply nods in all the right places and lets her continue to regale him with her medical woes.

“…Until a few weeks ago I only had arthritis in the top joint of my left index finger. Now both hands are troubling me. I’ve been told that Turmeric and Ginger tea can help. I don’t usually drink tea, but I suppose there’s no harm in trying it.”

She reaches out to lay a hand on his arm, her sleeve pulling back slightly as she does so to reveal part of a fading tattoo etched on a slender milky forearm. “Anyway, I think that when you get to a certain stage in life, on the seriously steep downward slope, as it were, as I am, then these things are kinda inevitable.”

“There’s loads of life left in you yet, Mrs. Bachowski.” He gives her his most winning smile. “You’ll outlive us all yet.”

She smiles warmly up at him, and squeezes his arm surprisingly firmly. “Oh, I keep forgetting what a charmer you are. But facts are facts and sadly my joints are not the only thing, my feet are posing me major problems too.” She pauses. “Though, considering the trouble they’re giving me, I may well be better with a chainsaw than a chiropodist,” she adds, eyes twinkling.

Leaving Jim with that delightful mental image she waves him a cheery good-bye, and sets off down the street, Harry trotting at her heels.

****

The vacuum bot moves around the bedroom, skillfully avoiding obstacles as it sucks up the dust and dirt. Jim strips off the bedding and throws everything in the recycler, and then re-makes the bed with freshly laundered sheets.

His gaze alights on Gary’s sweater folded on the bedside cabinet. He goes and picks it up and rubs the soft wool between his fingers. Gingerly he lifts it to his nose and takes a sniff. He grimaces. It doesn’t smell of Gary anymore. It smells like it badly needs a wash. Yet another trace of Gary erased from his life. He knows that pretty soon there will be nothing much left of Gary, nothing to show for nearly five years of a life together, other than some holos and Jim’s memories. The thought makes him sad, a dull ache blooming inside. He goes and drops the sweater in the recycler.

Soon, he’s sat on the bedroom floor surrounded by Gary’s clothes, sorting them into piles. On one pile are the clothes he intends to keep and wear. It’s Gary’s stuff that has now become Jim’s. He doesn’t want it. He wants Gary alive and well.

The other pile he’ll box up and take to a local thrift store or donate to a charity.

Sometime later he searches the pockets of the final jacket before he puts it on the ‘give away’ pile. His fingers touch something soft and warm. He pulls out a pair of black woolen gloves. Recognition sparks. The gloves belong to a set, gloves, scarf and hat that Jim had given Gary, his first present to him. They’d only been together a few months, but Jim had wanted somehow to communicate his feelings without _actually _having to communicate them. He isn’t one to speak openly about his feelings, never one to label them or confess them, can never admit to anything that can make him vulnerable.__

He’d had very little credits too, leaving his options limited, so with an Iowan winter approaching he’d purchased the knitwear and presented them to Gary in a paper bag with the words, “here you are.” He had affected an air of casual nonchalance as Gary had ‘opened’ his present, while all the while nervousness had thundered through him.

Gary had made a great fuss over the offering, had shown his appreciation with a passionate kiss and then tried them on. A memory flickers to life as clear as the picture on a holo-vid.

_Gary pulls the hat down over his head, wraps the scarf around his neck and begins pulling on the gloves with a delighted grin. Jim grins at Gary’s enthusiasm, happiness buzzing inside that his gift has been so gratefully received. His gaze drifts to the hat Gary has just positioned on his head. It sits slanted, one ear not quite covered. Jim surrenders to the constant urge to touch Gary, and he reaches out to grasp the hat, soft and warm beneath his fingers. He pulls it down over Gary’s ear with a chuckle. His gaze meets Gary’s and neither is able to look away, the moment slow and drifting. Gary places a hand behind Jim’s neck and pulls him into another bruising kiss. ___

The gloves blur in Jim’s hands and he blinks rapidly. Reminders are lurking all around, ready to jump out at unexpected moments. Most times when this happens he’s fine now. When Jim pokes the sore spot it’s not as sore anymore. But occasionally, out of the blue, something triggers a memory or emotion and he’s caught unawares and sudden grief can still well up.

Jim brutally stomps the unwelcome emotions down and locks them away in some dark recess. He gets up and places the gloves in the drawer of the bedside cabinet. He’s going to keep them. He searches for the scarf and hat, but can’t find them in the bedroom anywhere. His stomach rumbles, reminding him it’s well past lunchtime. He makes a mental note to search for them another day. He’s determined to find them.

He puts the clothes he’s keeping back in the closet and the clothes that he’s boxed, to give away, he places in the corner of the room for a day when he has more time.

He goes to the kitchen and replicates a sandwich, grabs a banana from the fruit bowl and a Zero Gravity from the fridge. He goes to the living room and sits in front of his terminal. He has a paper to finish that’s due Wednesday. He powers up the machine.

As he takes a bite from his sandwich, he checks his messages. His heart quickens its pace as he spots a response from Spock. He hesitates fractionally staring at the message icon, before he clicks the message open with some trepidation.

_Jim, good afternoon. Firstly, I wish to extend my sincere apologies for my tardiness in responding to your communication. As to your invitation, I would be honored to meet you at The Coffee Garden. Indeed, I was gratified to receive it as I have a matter I wish to discuss with you. Would 18:00 hours be acceptable? We can acquire sustenance once there, if you find this agreeable. Regards Spock. ___

His heart plummets inside his chest, falling to the pit of his stomach. He stares at the message. _‘A matter I wish to discuss with you.’ _It’s eerily similar to the words Gary used before he left Jim again for the second time. All Jim can think about is the fact he’s screwed up any chance of even a friendship with Spock. He can’t quite believe how desolate that thought makes him.__

He shakes his head as though to dispel the unwelcome thoughts. It’s probably for the best, he tells himself. On auto-pilot he sends a return message confirming that 18:00 is indeed acceptable.

He stares blankly at the screen for a few seconds before he consciously shuts his feelings off, forcing thoughts of Spock from his mind. He locks it down tight and bends himself to the task of finishing the paper. 


	27. Chapter Twenty-Six

Soft early evening sunlight casts dappled shadows over the street, as Jim turns and sprints up the steps to Mrs. Bachowski’s door. He doesn’t knock, not wanting to draw her into a conversation he has no time for right now. Instead, he crouches down and places two small packets of herbal tea on the wide top step, just behind the planter crowded with weeds and wilting pink and white flowers.

That done, Jim heads off down the street, towards The Coffee Garden. As usual, it’s good to be outside. He pulls in a deep cleansing breath. The air is filled with the sweet scent of freshly mown grass and, he has to admit, the less fragrant smells of the city. It doesn’t matter. Out here the world is heaving with life, and it feels good to be a part of it again. He can’t believe that only a few months ago, he was in a deep dark pit of despair.

It’s not all sunlight, of course. There’s a small spot inside Jim, like a fading bruise, that still hurts when caught unawares by a stray memory, or when Jim picks and prods it, or thinks too closely about what he’s lost. It stings mostly when he’s lonely, which when he’s at home, in a house too large and empty, is often. Those are the moments when he really misses Gary’s companionship. Hell, he almost misses the other guys, or at least Ezra and Mark.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. That’s in the past. He should think about the immediate future. He knows he needs to get his thoughts in order, think things through, before he sees Spock. Nervous anticipation has been building within him like an electrical charge for the last few hours. After finishing the paper he’d busied himself on the computer; reorganizing files, researching the health benefits of herbal teas, anything to keep his mind off the quickly approaching meeting.

He’s never been one to dance around an issue, or avoid a problem, so he hates the fact that this is exactly what he’s done. He knows that a sincere apology and an explanation for his absence are long overdue. He only hopes his apology will be accepted.

As he walks, he runs through different scenarios, trying to formulate a way to steer the forthcoming conversation in a direction that won’t completely ruin his chances of rescuing his friendship with Spock. Even though Jim can now admit to himself that he’s in love with Spock, there’s no point thinking of anything beyond friendship, even in the unlikely event of the Vulcan returning his feelings. Jim knows too, that he if he was ever stupid enough to reveal his own feelings to Spock, there would be certain rejection, though Spock being Spock would be too decent to be obnoxious about it.

The relationship thing never seems to work in his favor anyway; just look what happened with Gary. He’s not crazy enough to try it a second time. Everyone he’s allowed to get closer than arm’s length has been lost to him, one way or another. _There’s no point even going there. ___

Jim’s musings clatter to a halt as he strides up to the café. He hesitates a moment before going inside, taking in the familiar façade of wide tall frosted windows and sage green paintwork. It feels an age since he was last here, much longer than the three weeks that have passed. Jim can see fuzzy colorful shapes moving behind the opaque glass. It looks busy.

He steps inside, into the colorful, welcoming warmth. He’s immediately hit with the scents of cooking food and the heavenly aroma of roast coffee. He scans the bustling interior for Spock, but can’t see him. It doesn’t even look as if there are any tables free.

He gaze drifts right, to the counter where the coffee machine sits. Tom, one of the waiters, has his back to him. He’s placing cups of coffee on a tray. Alice is busily re-arranging a cluster of cotton-candy pink tulips in a silver raindrop vase. Jim catches her eye.

“Spock?” he mouths at her, forming his expression into a question mark. She shakes her head. He points up to the mezzanine level and she nods in response. Satisfied that she’ll inform Spock when he arrives, Jim turns and heads up the open tread stairs to the next floor.

Up here the buzz of conversation from the busy café below tapers to a soft murmur. Jim chooses a table at the back of the room, farthest from the restrooms. It’s near a large window, open slightly at the top, which overlooks the garden the café takes its name from. He looks out. The garden is bathed in soft apricot tones, the shadows lengthening. The air is scented with the faint fragrance of honey.

He picks up a menu and pretends to read, but really he’s listening. Sure enough, it isn’t long before he can hear measured footsteps ascending the stairs. He looks up. Spock’s long lean frame materializes and Jim’s heart does a series of flips, his breath catching in his throat. He jumps up, his chair scraping against the wood floor, and watches as Spock approaches.

Jim finds he can’t drag his gaze away as he greedily drinks in the sight of him. Spock looks gorgeous in a dark over coat, twinned with a midnight blue scarf draped loosely around his neck. He looks good in blue, Jim decides. The color compliments the glints shimmering in his silky hair under the overhead lights.

Spock comes to a halt at the table and their eyes meet. Jim smiles warmly at him and in response the corners of Spock’s mouth quirk in a fleeting self-conscious smile. Butterflies swarm in Jim’s stomach. _Yeah, I’ve sure got it bad, _he thinks.__

“Good evening, Jim.”

“Hey Spock, thanks for agreeing to meet,” Jim says, adopting a confident stance, but doubting he can completely hide his nervousness. “How are you?”

“It is no hardship to accept your invitation,” Spock says, regarding Jim intently. “Indeed, it is a pleasure, as always, to spend time with you. As to your second query, I am well. And you, Jim?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. You too, by the way. Great company, I mean.”

Spock inclines his head in acknowledgement of the compliment, and Jim breathes an internal sigh of relief as he feels himself relax, his body almost sagging in relief. Spock isn’t angry with him. How is that possible? At the same time warmth blooms in his chest at the knowledge Spock likes spending time with him.

“Shall we?” Spock says, indicating the chairs.

“Sure,” Jim says, casually slumping in to his seat. He can feel his usual self-assurance returning now that the conversation is shaping up to be not as fatal as he feared. He watches as Spock neatly folds his scarf and coat over the back of his chair.  


Spock has just taken his seat when Alice arrives at their table. She greets them, smiling warmly, before pouring two glasses of iced water from a condensation-frosted jug. After taking their drinks order she leaves.

“Look Spock, I’m really sorry for, you know, not being available for a while,” Jim says, deciding to get to the point.

“Jim, there is really no need for you to apologize.”

“Of course there is! What about the way I’ve been avoiding you for the past few weeks, making lame excuses not to hang out.” Jim holds his breath and mentally winces. _Oh, shit, did I really just say that out loud. _He’s basically just admitted his avoidance was deliberate. Oh well, too late now.__

“Understandable, under the circumstances,” Spock says softly.

“Uh? What circumstances?” 

“Nyota had previously informed me of your recent bereavement. I chose to ignore her counsel and continue with our…association. It is I who should apologize.”

Okay, that’s thrown Jim for a loop. It’s totally not how he expected this conversation to go, and as such he has no road map to help him navigate the looming conversation ahead. He decides to blip over just exactly when this ‘Nyota’ person put Spock in the picture about Gary. He’ll come back to that later.

“You? Come on Spock, you’ve got nothing to apologize for. You weren’t the one behaving like a dick.”

“Maybe not,” Spock says, a small flicker of amusement apparent, before he schools his features back to solemnity. “Nevertheless, it is I who failed to raise the issue with you when informed of your loss. It is I who failed to observe the correct human cultural norms and express to you my condolences.”

Jim starts to say something but Spock holds up a hand to forestall him.

“Please Jim, if I may. This discussion is long over-due. It appears I am remiss in many respects re…”

“Spock, I’m sure that’s not true.” Jim says, leaning forward slightly. He feels his hand twitch as it makes an abortive motion towards Spock’s lower arm, which is resting on the table. He stills its forward movement with an effort.

“Jim, may I please continue?” Spock asks, a hint of exasperation coloring his tone.

“Sure, okay,” Jim says, leaning back in his chair. He decides to let Spock steer the conversation, curious now as to where he’s heading.

Spock clasps his hands in front of him and regards Jim with an unreadable expression. “Let us order first and then we can continue our discussion at a more leisurely pace.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

As he scans the menu, Jim takes the opportunity to study Spock, with quick little covert glances, trying to get an angle on his mood. From what he can read, Spock seems fairly relaxed, maybe slightly pensive, but it’s certainly far from how Jim feared he’d be. His gaze flicks up for another furtive glance, only to meet Spock’s dark warm eyes. Jim quickly drops his gaze back down to his menu. But when he glances up again Spock is still looking at him. Jim flashes him a self-conscious grin, which is answered with a raised brow.

Thankfully, he’s saved from further embarrassment by Alice bringing their drinks. She takes their order and assures them the food will follow shortly. Jim gives her a distracted smile and mutters his thanks.

Avoiding Spock’s eye, he picks up his glass to take a sip of the complimentary ice water, as he waits for the Vulcan to pick up the thread of their previous conversation. He doesn’t have to wait long.

“Jim, I believe that we both have fallen victim to a combination of miscommunication and cultural misunderstandings. As I have already stated, at the beginning of our association I was not aware of your situation. When I initiated our courtship…”

“Wait! Courtship?” Jim’s glad he’s placed the glass of water back down, otherwise he might now be choking.

“Yes, of course. Is that not what we have been doing? In effect, though it was not my initial intention, ever since you first agreed to attend this very establishment with me?” Spock says, confusion drawing his brows together.

“Uh,” Jim says, nonplussed. _Hey Brain! Way to go with the eloquence. _His brain isn’t paying attention. It’s too busy doing the ‘happy dance’ as realization dawns that his feelings are not unrequited. There’s a rushing sound in his ears and warmth pooling in his stomach.__

Spock’s posture stiffens. “Regrettably, it seems I have been more thoughtless in this situation than I first assumed. It is apparent that, aside from my many other oversights, I failed to ascertain that we were both on the ‘same page,’ as the human vernacular as it.”

“I’m sorry Spock, really I am,” Jim says, desperate to remove that forlorn look from Spock’s face. He hates that he put it there. He cares about Spock deeply, even if he is loath to fully admit that outside his own head, disclosure to Bones notwithstanding.

“Jim, please cease apologizing. You have nothing to be repentant for. The fault is clearly mine. I was erroneously under the impression that, when I extended the invitation and you accepted, you were aware of what I was proposing. However, it is now obvious that I should not have presumed understanding of my motives on your part. It seems I was mistaken in assuming your apparent enthusiasm was something more than it was…”

"Gentlemen?" Alice interrupts, as she slides two plates onto the table.

Jim is barely aware of her presence. His mind, flapping like a loose sail line in the breeze, is still trying to spool Spock’s revelation into some kind of sense. He mentally grabs hold of Spock’s last sentence. _“Your apparent enthusiasm,” _and yes it’s true, he realizes, as he quickly runs through his memories of their time together. He has been flirting with Spock, started flirting with him to gain intelligence on the Maru.__

Jim refocuses on his surroundings. Alice has disappeared back down to the lower level of the café. His gaze drifts to Spock, sitting stiffly across from him, taut lines drawn around eyes and lips.

This time Jim gives into his instincts. He reaches forward and tentatively lays a hand on Spock’s forearm. Spock glances down to the spot where Jim’s hand rests on his sleeve before his gaze flickers up to meets Jim’s.

“Spock, you weren’t mistaken about my enthusiasm. I _was _eager to spend more time with you. I wanted to know you better. I was even flirting with you, a little.” He gives a sheepish grin. “Flirty is my default.”__

He gives Spock’s arm a gentle squeeze, before withdrawing. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, Spock.”

Spock inclines his head in acknowledgment, his shoulders relaxing fractionally.

There’s a brief lull, the only sound the muffled hum of laughter and voices floating up from the floor below.

Spock delicately spears a leaf on his fork, avoiding Jim’s gaze. “If you were indeed, as you say, flirting with me and endeavoring to become better acquainted, then why did you seek to distance yourself these past few weeks? I had assumed it was due to grief on your part, and that my inelegant attempts to court you had caused offence, but that does not appear to be the case.”

Jim takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “No, it’s not really grief anymore, not mainly anyway.” He shrugs. “I mean, I back slide occasionally. I have my bad days, but it’s not too bad.”

His eyes fall to his drink, and he runs his index finger down the side of the cool damp glass. “You see Spock, basically it’s because I guess I kind of panicked.”

“Panicked?”

“Yeah, I realized that I...liked you, you know?” He looks back up, locks eyes with Spock. “Maybe a little more than I was prepared to admit.”

“I see,” Spock responds, expression solemn, though Jim thinks he can detect the return of a warm sparkle in dark brown eyes.

“I just needed some time alone, I guess. But I went about it the wrong way. I shouldn’t have disappeared like that. It was very immature, and not fair on you.”

“That may be,” Spock concedes. “However, that still does not excuse my lack of clarity regarding our ongoing…relationship, and my lack of attention to cultural variances. As I have already stated I did not take account of your circumstances. I should have spoken with you about this issue as soon as Nyota informed me.

“In fact, I have been shamefully negligent in observing even the niceties of my own culture. I should have extended my condolences as soon as I was aware.”

Jim breaks off a warm crust of his baguette, faintly yeasty. “I still think you’re being too hard on yourself.”

“Jim?” 

Jim looks up. 

“I grieve with thee.” Spock intones solemnly, with a small tilt of his head.

Jim gifts him a soft smile. “Thanks, Spock.”

They eat in companionable silence for a while, relaxed in each other’s company now that the sticky uncomfortable talk of feelings is behind them.

“When did Nyota inform you?” Jim asks casually.

“I believe it may be beneficial to go back to the beginning…”

He listens as Spock explains how to him Jim had started out as just another cadet who Spock was tasked to work with, how he imagined it would just be a case of working with and tolerating him for the few short weeks of the project. How his interest was piqued over the weeks of working with Jim and watching him perform on their school trips, how he grew to find he enjoyed his company.

Jim lets Spock’s even, rich baritone wash over him, content to map Spock’s face, the way dark lashes rest on pale cheeks, the curve of a cheekbone, the line of his jaw, the play of light and shadow over his features. Everything else slips away.

As he watches Spock talk, he drinks in the curve of Spock’s lips, the perfect shape of his mouth. He bets those lips are so kissable. He bets Spock is so fuc…

“…Slowly, after engaging in many hours of meditation, I came to understand and accept my growing regard for you. Once I had accepted that state of affairs, and after further meditation, I came to the conclusion that the only rational course of action was to ‘date’ you, as Humans would say.”

“You did, eh?” Jim says, pulled out of his revere.

“Indeed, it was the only logical way to gain further knowledge of your intellect and character and thus to ascertain our compatibility and your desirability as a potential bond mate.”

Jim looks up sharply, forkful of vegetarian pizza frozen in mid-air. “Bond-mate? Is that like, happily ever-after? You know, in the Human sense of marriage?”

“It is.”

“Oh!” Jim’s eyes widen. He looks at Spock like he's never seen him before. He’s not sure what to make of this development, but all the same, some nameless warm emotion unfurls in his chest, suffusing him. Automatically, the arm that was frozen in mid-air, in the act of bringing his fork to his lips, completes its journey to his mouth.

Spock seems unruffled by Jim’s reaction. “Relax Jim; I am not speaking of bonding tomorrow, or indeed, next year, or the year after. Not at this stage.”

Jim places his fork down on his empty plate and casually leans back to sprawl in his chair. “I am relaxed,” he hooks an elbow over the chair back, “look, totally calm.” He smirks. “There’s nobody cooler than James Kirk.”

An elegant brow slowly arches. “Indeed,” Spock says, dryly. “Though, it must be articulated, a moment ago you appeared somewhat perturbed.”

“Yeah, isn’t that something,” Jim mutters. He clears his throat. “So, you concluded we were compatible and that you liked me, and then what?”

"As Vulcans rarely, if ever, seek mates outside of our race, and as we do not discuss our emotions, I found I had no knowledge of Human courtship rituals and no point of reference in which to guide me in making an approach to you. I therefore sought Nyota’s advice on the matter.”

Jim nods, “makes sense.”

“Indeed, her advice was invaluable,” a beat, “up to the moment she withdrew her assistance.”

“She did?” Jim frowns. “Why?”

There’s a curl of amusement at the edge of Spock’s lips. “Essentially, when she discovered you were the object of my regard.”

Jim frowns in confusion. “Which was when?”

Spock neatly lays his knife and fork on his plate. “The day in the Academy mess when you enquired about Vulcan beliefs regarding death and bereavement. We talked of katras.”

Jim nods. “So, she decided to stop helping you?”

Spock slowly inclines his head. “She explained you were bereaved following the death of your mate, a cadet named Gary Mitchell. She said she could not assist any further as she did not wish to see either of us hurt. She feared you were not ready for another relationship as, in her judgement, you were still in mourning. This was her main reasoning for withdrawing her support, though there were other reasons.”

“Such as?”

“That Vulcans are intensely monogamous, and that we require a telepathic bond between mates, which is clearly not something all Humans are comfortable with.”

Jim blinks, he’s missing something. Spock’s tone is, as usual, even and composed, but Jim’s instincts tell him this is not the whole story. There’s another reason why this Nyota person stopped giving Spock dating advice. It seems her help was withdrawn when she discovered Spock’s interest in him. Suddenly, the pieces connect as Scotty’s rich highland brogue flashes through his mind as clear as if the engineering cadet were sitting at the table with them. _“Why is Uhura giving ye the stink eye?” ___

Jim’s head snaps up and he looks at Spock through narrowed eyes. “Is your friend Nyota on the communications track?”

“Yes, she is,” Spock responds, face carefully impassive, but Jim can see the laughter that lights Spock’s dark eyes. “You do know each other, though maybe not very well. It is clear we have largely socialized in different circles over our shared time at the Academy.”

“Uhura?” he says, mentally face palming. So much for meek mousy-haired lab-rat.

Spock inclines his head in answer.

“Why did she say that she didn’t think we were suitable, other than the situation with Gary?”

Spock tilts his head, considering. “You are certain you desire to know?”

Jim shrugs. “Yeah, how bad can it be?”

“Very well,” Spock says, clasping his hands in front of him. “She thinks you’re too abrasive, too self-centered, too cocky, too impetuous, maddeningly obstinate and often childishly immature. She also states…”

“Ouch! Okay,” Jim holds his hand up. “I get the picture, you can stop right there.” He mentally crosses Uhura off his Christmas card list, but not from his wish list of communication officers he wants under his command when he eventually makes captain of Starfleet’s flagship. He’s deflated, not stupid. “Didn’t she say anything positive?”

Spock merely raises a brow.

“Oh!”

Nyota, eh? He can have so much fun with that. His mind is already spinning with the many possibilities. His mind is whirling with other things too. 

Spock’s in love with him. The words reverberate though his mind, like a mantra. It doesn’t seem real. The very thought of it causes something effervescent to rinse through his veins, like bubbly Champagne, and he feels as though he’s floating, light as air.

The feeling doesn’t leave him all the way through Alice arriving to clear away their dirty plates. It lingers still as minutes later she arrives back with Vulcan Spiced tea for Spock and a cup of roast coffee for him.

Only then, do darker thoughts press in like oppressive weather. What if Spock dies? What if he gets hit by a hover-car, or obliterated in a transporter malfunction? What if Spock doesn’t die? What if he doesn’t hurt him? No, the relationship thing doesn’t work for him, best not to go there. It only leads to pain, Gary proved that. He doesn’t want to start again, doesn’t want to be vulnerable. But…but this is Spock, who by some miracle returns his feelings.

Pensively, Jim takes a sip of his scalding drink. He glances up at Spock and catches the Vulcan looking at him with an inquisitive glint in his eye.

On impulse he places his cup back on the table and reaches into the pocket of his jacket, draped over the back of his chair, and pulls out his PADD. He opens up his calendar for the next month. From the corner of his eye he can see Spock watching him curiously over the rim of his cup as he sips his tea.

With a grin, Jim slides the PADD across the table to him. “As we both know it’s difficult making time outside Academy hours, those are my free days, pick one when you’re free too, and that’s our next date.”

Spock regards him over the rim of his cup, dark eyes shining with affection and warmth, all centered on him. Jim shivers.

Spock carefully places his cup back down and picks up the PADD. After a brief scan, his finger taps on the screen once, before he hands it back.

Jim glances down at the screen. “Next Sunday, eh?” He looks back to Spock with a smile. “It’s a date.”

“I look forward to it.”

Jim’s face breaks into a blinding grin, warmth suffusing him.

He slouches back in his chair. “Are you sure you’re not mistaken? About Uhura, I mean?”

“Affirmative. I would have thought you would be aware of her feelings towards you. Apparently, you both spend your time constantly insulting each other.”

“We don’t trade insults Spock. It’s light-hearted banter. Kinda like the thing you and Bones have got going.”

“Ah, I see,” Spock says, burying a smile against the rim of his cup.

Jim persists. “You must be mistaken, Spock. Uhura’s my number one fan. It’s a little known fact that she’s first in the queue of the James T Kirk fan club.”

“Surely not _first?” _Spock says, raising an ironic eyebrow.__

“Yeah, you’re right,” Jim says, a wide, easy smile stretching over his face. “You’d have to get up pretty early to beat Bones to the front of the line.”

The eyebrow remains eloquently arched.

“What! You don’t mean I’m my biggest fan, do you? Little ole’ modest me? Wouldn’t that be a tad egotistical?”

“Perish the thought,” Spock says, sardonically.

Jim throws his head back and laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, another chapter at 4,000 words – sorry about that – but at least Spock and Jim are back together :) There’s probably too many smiles, grins and eyebrow quirks too, but hopefully you can pass that off as our boys being happy and in love, rather than sloppy repetitive writing on my part. 
> 
> Finally, I hate to have to do this, really I do, but I’m going to have to take a short break now. I have some work to get through and then I’m going on my hols (vacation). I’ll be back in September though, I promise. Rest assured that I’m certainly not abandoning the fic. 
> 
> I hope that many, if not all of you, will re-join me then. I’d hate to lose any of you :) You’ve all been fantastic, and I really appreciate your comments, reviews and kudos. Thank you.
> 
> I hope you all have a great summer (or whatever season it may be on your little bit of the globe). Back next month. ~x


	28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all,
> 
> Back again! If you cast your minds back to the last chapter, nearly a month ago now, Jim and Spock had a 'date' planned. Here's that date...

Summer is beginning its slow surrender to autumn, and Jim can almost sense the change in the air, the variation in the light, as the fall steals into view, bringing with it the sepia tones of September.

The early dawn mist melted away hours ago and the day is already pleasantly warm, the breeze barely perceptible. The late morning air is imbued with the scent of fresh earth, warm grass, flowers and something faintly piquant. Jim inhales a deep lungful.

Only the softest whisper of sound drifts to them on the almost still air; the distant buzz of the city, the muffled bark of a dog, the quiet murmur of voices, the occasional peal of laughter. The loudest noise is the crunch of gravel beneath their feet, as they approach the shadowy tangle of trees. Jim drops his gaze back to the complimentary PADD provided by the Botanical Gardens as he reads aloud the data automatically uploading on its sleek dark surface.

“High above the tropical rain forests in Central and South America, the landscape reaches elevations upwards of 6,500 feet. Dense tropical air cools to mist and fog and reveals an abundance of ferns and epiphytes. Here in San Francisco, conditions are ripe for cloud forest plants, with the city’s mild temperatures and, in summer, its plentiful fog.”

Jim looks around at the amazingly lush, dense, jungle-like forest that is slowly enclosing them in a cool shady embrace as they venture deeper.

“Fog, eh? It doesn’t take Einstein to see why they’re thriving here,” he says, gaze drifting upwards to the towering canopies overhead.

“Indeed,” Spock says dryly. “I am gratified to discover there are life forms that are actually able to prosper in the chill precipitation that characterize this city’s summers.”

Jim presses his lips around the smile that threatens to bubble up irrepressibly from the well of warm affection inside, as he drops his attention back to the PADD.

“Cloud forests at elevations of 6,000 to 10,000 feet are characterized by low temperatures, high cloud condensation and low evaporation rate. Misty and damp, walking through such a forest is like walking through the clouds!” He glances back over his shoulder at the rapidly shrinking scene of bright flowers and sunshine they are leaving behind. “Pity it’s not foggy. I quite like the idea of walking among the clouds.”

“Speak for yourself. I am merely content that the city’s most habitable season is now upon us. I find the fall often quite pleasant, though it must be stated, the temperatures fall well below the average of my home planet.”

Jim turns to look at him, with a raised eyebrow of his own. “You have heard the saying, ‘the coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.’ Believe it.”

“I do believe it. Do not forget, this is my third year of residence. In fact, I was somewhat dismayed to find that my first winter at the Academy was so unseasonably cold. All my research before leaving Vulcan had led me to believe that while the city’s summers were likely to be cool and foggy, the winters, though wet, would be somewhat mild, by Terran standards.”

There’s a brief lull, and Jim flicks another glance sideways to find Spock looking at him, a warm glow in his eyes.

“Imagine my surprise to find I had arrived in San Francisco in the same year as the coldest winter, and indeed first snowfalls, for nearly one hundred years.”

“Great timing!” Jim says with a chuckle.

Spock tilts his head in agreement, the merest twitch of a wry smile on his lips.

Crunching footsteps carry them forward a few more paces still, deeper into the burgeoning forest. As they walk, Jim continues to dart surreptitious glances sideways, delighting in Spock’s evident curiosity in the abundant vegetation encircling them. Spock gives no indication he’s aware of Jim’s scrutiny, as he walks with measured steps, matching Jim’s pace, hands folded neatly behind his back. 

Once more, Jim is struck by the nearness of him, the scent of him, and as so many times before, he feels completely overwhelmed by the reaction Spock arouses in him.

He clears his throat. “Sadly, as you’re probably aware, this planet’s sometimes fickle weather is a hangover from man-made climate change and, of course, the Eugenics wars.”

“I am indeed aware. It is my understanding that initially humanity did very little to counteract the effects of their profligacy.”

Jim nods. “There were efforts made, of course, but there was no real incentive, especially politically, to really come to grips with the problem.”

They move unhurriedly deeper into the forest, gravel giving way to compacted earth.

“And, of course in the early 21st century they didn’t have the technology. Oh, sure they made attempts, such as trying to reflect light back into space to save the ice-caps and seeding clouds, but back then geoengineering was a controversial un-tested science, that occasionally had some unforeseen consequences.” He flicks another glance at Spock. “It wasn’t all bad though. After all, it was the forerunner of terra-forming.”

Jim’s lets his gaze slide away, to refocus on something unseen in the distance. “Gary knew a lot about this stuff. He was really interested in the science of terra-forming, and had a pretty good grasp of its grounding in geoengineering.” His heart gives an odd lurch.

Suddenly feeling oddly self-conscious, Jim swings the PADD up and bends his head to continue reading the information there.

After a few moments he feels a shivery sensation run over his neck, the sensation of someone watching him. He looks up, and meets Spock’s inquisitive gaze.

Jim offers him a soft self-conscious smile, before letting his gaze slip away.

They lapse into silence, with only the noise of their footsteps, and the muted sounds of distant life filtering through the trees.

“I am gratified to discover that humans are taking more care of their planet,” Spock says quietly, some moments later.

“Well, it had to happen. We are, after all, on a ship of fixed dimensions. We know its size. We know that its resources are finite. Continuing to pretend otherwise is sheer stupidity.”

He turns to Spock. “It’s like the penguin story.”

“Penguin story?” A quizzical eyebrow flies towards Spock’s bangs.

“Yeah, you know the one about the colony of penguins,” Jim says, before relating the story of how penguins survive their harsh climate by all huddling together, to conserve warmth, and how they gradually circulate so that all take their turn both in the warm center of the flock and on the cold outside. 

“However, one day, some of those at the center got greedy and decided to ‘hell with this, we’re not taking our turn in the blizzards. We’re going to stay where it’s was warm and comfortable.’ You can probably already see the looming flaws in this particular strategy.”

Spock blinks, and tilts his head, fractionally. “Indeed. Those remaining on the outside would eventually weaken and become susceptible to hypothermia. Maybe even perish.”

“Precisely, but that didn’t matter to those in the middle. They thought to themselves; ‘what’s a few deaths? Those other guys were probably unworthy, not being smart enough to grab it all for themselves. Not like us.” He shoots Spock a meaningful look. “However…”

“However, those on the periphery would no doubt be dying in greater numbers as more of them became exposed to lengthy periods of extreme cold.”

“Exactly! They’d congratulated themselves on how smart they were, staking out the center for themselves, but it was a dumb idea. It just ensured their extinction.”

“Penguins are not extinct.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Spock, quit messing with my head. You know perfectly well they’re not. Just as you know perfectly well what a parable is. The point of the story is that penguins obviously aren’t as stupid and short-sighted as humans can be.”

“Ah, I see,” Spock says, face impressively inscrutable. 

Jim’s not fooled. He feels affection bloom in his chest and he gifts Spock a bright smile in response. “I guess we were pretty much like those _fictional _penguins and it led us to near destruction.”__

“Humans are the not the only species in the galaxy to be so short-sighted,” Spock says, matter-of-factly. 

“That’s good to hear.” 

They continue their tour of the cloud forest, Jim chatting incessantly about the plants that surround them as he reads aloud from the PADD, Spock regaling him with tales of Vulcan’s violent past in the brief gaps between Jim’s chatter. 

__Hours later, Jim takes a swig of the bottled water he is now in possession of, before turning to Spock. “You ready to call it a day, or shall we find somewhere to sit for a while?”_ _

__Spock turns to look at him, unmistakable warmth, and something more, in his dark gaze. “As I find I am not yet ready for the day to end, if it is agreeable with you, I would not be averse to spending more time here,” he says, softly._ _

__The look in his eyes makes Jim feel he could catch fire, and he has to remember to breathe. Jim licks suddenly dry lips and clears his throat experimentally. “Great.” He’s relieved to note that his voice remains level._ _

__They reach the end of the path to be confronted by a riot of color. A large expanse of deep emerald green lawn is checkered with masses of flower beds. Flowers of every type and color: multitudes of huge blue Tibetan poppies stand beside creamy magnolia and bright ruby red roses and scattered among are scarlet, orange and cream Tulips, petals blown wide. The landscape is draped in bright shimmering sunlight._ _

__Shielding his eyes from the glare Jim takes in the scene._ _

__“Pretty psychedelic, eh?” he says with a sideways glance._ _

__“It is indeed a striking display,” Spock says, eyes widening slightly as he takes in the view. Sunlight filters through the overhead blossoms, rippling shadowy patterns over his face, and Jim is mesmerized by the sight, unable to look away, conspicuous flower display forgotten._ _

__Jim blinks and with an effort turns his attention back to the view before them. “Shall we?”_ _

__Spock gives an elegant nod in response._ _

__As they pick their way through the avenue of scent the thought passes through Jim’s mind that many of these plants are flowering out of season. Spock, it seems, isn’t the only example of genetic engineering present._ _

__Jim feels a smile spread over his face as he spots the chess tables dotted among the flower beds and picnic benches._ _

__He half turns to Spock, following behind. “Do you play chess?”_ _

__“Affirmative,” Spock says, tone low. “I would not be adverse to a game.”_ _

__“Great,” Jim says happily, leading the way to the nearest available table._ _

__Jim sits down opposite Spock and begins pulling the game pieces from their little recess in the table top. They’re in luck, none are missing. He quickly sets up the board, giving Spock white and himself black. He’s a little rusty, so no need to give the Vulcan an advantage._ _

__He flicks a sly grin up at Spock. “You may live to regret agreeing to this. I should warn you, I play a mean game of chess.”_ _

__Spock’s eyes sparkle, humor clearly evident as he says, “We shall see. You are not the only one proficient at the game.”_ _

__A comfortable silence descends as both concentrate on the board before them. Jim watches Spock's moves, trying to get a feel for how the Vulcan plays. He also indulges his Spock watching hobby (which isn’t as often as it used to be now that he’s actually acknowledged his feelings for his friend), noticing how the sunlight slips between the silken strands of his hair. How it bathes his olive tinted skin in a warm glow._ _

__“Jim, you will need to spend more time focusing on the actual game, if you intend to make good on your claim of making me regret agreeing to play you,” Spock says, without looking up._ _

__Damn! Caught, Jim drops his gaze back to the board, his cheeks warm. “You may have a point there, Spock.”_ _

__Spock emits a barely perceptible huff, like a soft exhale, which Jim assumes is the Vulcan equivalent of a chuckle._ _

__He turns his attention back to the game and soon his competitive nature comes to the fore as he quickly devises strategies to counteract Spock’s moves. The world retreats and he loses track of time as he channels all his concentration into the game._ _

__“Your move, Jim.”_ _

__“I’ll have you check-mated in the next move,” he says, not looking up from the board to see how Spock reacts to this news._ _

__“Checkmate!” Jim says a couple of moves later, not quite able to keep the note of triumph out of his voice. He stretches back in his chair and lets a lazy smile spread over his face._ _

__Spock tilts his head slightly, his look assessing._ _

__“Fascinating,” he murmurs. “It would appear you are correct. You do indeed play a mean game of chess. Clearly, your illogical approach to the game has its advantages.”_ _

__“I prefer to call it inspired.”_ _

__“As you wish.”_ _

__Jim’s grin widens. “Another game?”_ _

__“Indeed.”_ _

__As the shadows lengthen they settle in for a second game. Jim is so completely focused on the board that it takes a second for Spock’s question to register._ _

__“…What was Gary like?”_ _

__He flicks his gaze back up to Spock. He wasn’t really expecting Spock’s question and it’s caught him a little off guard. But he knows he probably should have anticipated it. Spock is, after all, an intensely curious individual. Only last week, though they’d not spoken of Gary directly, they’d discussed the point at which Spock learned of Jim’s bereavement. Yes, he really should have foreseen this._ _

__“I should not have asked. Let us continue with the game,” Spock says quietly, evidently reacting to Jim’s hesitation._ _

__“No, no it’s okay. I don’t mind. It’s better than not talking about him, like he never existed. That would be worse.” He shrugs. “Anyway, I’m the one who mentioned him, earlier. What was he like?”_ _

__Spock inclines his head in a shallow nod._ _

__“He was a mix of self-absorption and selflessness. He was intelligent, witty and fun. He had a huge smile and an infectious personality. He could be as annoying as hell at times, messy too.”_ _

__His eyes drop, gaze unfocused, on the game board._ _

__“He was on the command track, same as me. We occasionally used to argue about who was going to be whose first officer, a kind of running joke.” A lop-sided smile tugs at his lips at the memory. “He played a mean game of poker. He hated going to the beach. He was allergic to tomatoes, they gave him mouth ulcers. He was interested in geoengineering and terra-forming, among other things. He was at the higher end of the Human esper scale…”_ _

__His voice trails off. It feels strange talking about Gary to Spock, to someone who never knew him. Jim realises suddenly that he doesn’t want to share his memories of Gary with people who have no memories of him of their own to share._ _

__“What was his rating if you do not mind my asking?”_ _

__Jim exhales a soft breath as he pulls himself back from his contemplation._ _

__“Well above average in all categories. His esper was 091; his apperception quotient was 20/104.” An unexpected acrid taste burns the back of his throat. “Like I said, all above average.”_ _

__“Impressive for…”_ _

__Jim shoots a sharp glance upwards. “You think? It was more like a curse. What fucking use is it if you can’t even foretell your own death?” he says, bitterness lacing his words._ _

__Gentle, liquid dark eyes regard him intently. “Regrettably, it does not appear to work in that way,” Spock says softly._ _

__“Well, it damn well should,” Jim says, tone meeker. It’s not Spock’s fault, after all. He shakes his head slightly, trying to bring the shutters down on the darkly bitter emotion twisting in his gut. He’s only partly successful. He shifts in his seat, his gaze sliding away. “Sorry.”_ _

__“There is nothing to apologize for.” A beat. “I regret I never got the opportunity to meet him.”_ _

__He looks up, meets and holds Spock’s gaze. “Thanks, Spock.”_ _

__Spock tilts his head in acknowledgement._ _

__A large interstate air tram swoops overhead, draping them in cool shadows. Jim reaches out and picks up his rook from the board, twisting and rolling it between his fingers. “We had some great times together and I miss his friendship.” _I loved him _.___ _

____He offers an affable smile. “But that’s all history now. It’s time to move on. I’m ready for moving on. I guess questions just get a little bit difficult to answer without the memories flooding back.”_ _ _ _

____“The memories are problematic for you?” Spock asks, a quizzical brow flaring upwards._ _ _ _

____Jim takes a second to think back to the early months, the ones in the immediate aftermath of Gary’s death. Fragmented memories of all he had lost would cloud his mind when awake and haunt his sleepless nights. He had found himself a prisoner of them, powerless to break free._ _ _ _

____“No, not anymore, really. I mean, I’ve been plagued by memories of us, ever since he died. Kind of like flashbacks, but only the good times, never the negative ones. In the beginning the damn memories were the worse part, because it was just too painful to be reminded of what I’d lost.”_ _ _ _

____He doesn’t want to think about those desperate grief filled months. He locks their memory away in the darkest recesses of his mind. No, he doesn’t really want to go there. He lacks the emotional vocabulary for one thing. He’s experienced at compartmentalizing his emotions, a necessity in his view for surviving his childhood. But Spock is easy to talk to and his question is not unreasonable. Jim shrugs as though he hopes the gesture will articulate his feelings._ _ _ _

____“I’d try and suppress them, but they kept coming back. And, you know, I was all over the place. The best I felt for months was numb, because I could function.”_ _ _ _

____“Are you still trying to suppress them?” Spock asks tone curious._ _ _ _

____“No, they’re not so painful now, and they don’t visit me as often anyway, so it’s easier. I kinda treasure them.” He clears his throat a little self-consciously. “I just have to be conscious of not placing him on a pedestal. Sometimes what you remember and what actually was are two completely different things.”_ _ _ _

____“Indeed.”_ _ _ _

____Jim places the rook back on the table and leans back in his chair. “But I want to be able to move on. I don’t want to be like Winona. So I guess I need to find a way to let his memory go.”_ _ _ _

____Spock leans forward fractionally and steeples his fingers in front of his face, quietly contemplating Jim. “Maybe you should not let your memories of him go, rather you should simply not allow them to rule you, not allow them to overshadow your future.”_ _ _ _

____“Maybe,” Jim says uncertainly._ _ _ _

____“I believe there is an indigenous North American belief that says someone isn't truly ‘dead’ until the last person who remembers them is also dead. Gary exists in your memories and in the memories of all who knew him.”_ _ _ _

____There’s a slight pause as Spock drops his gaze to the chess board sitting between them, as though contemplating his next move. Dark eyes lift back to Jim. “You all carry a piece of him. To that end, it may be more beneficial to occasionally share those memories, talk about them with others who knew him, talk about him, so other people can keep the memories too.”_ _ _ _

____“I never really thought of it like that,” Jim says thoughtfully. Affection and gratitude bubble in his chest, and he can feel a slow smile spread across his face. “Thanks, Spock.”_ _ _ _

____“You are welcome, Jim,” Spock says, impassive expression softening into a clandestine smile._ _ _ _

____The low smooth words send a soft shiver down Jim’s spine, and his pulse spikes. Spock is looking at him, a warm glow in his eyes. The world retreats and the Jim’s only thought is how close Spock is, seated just across the small table. He resists the urge to reach out across the small gap, to touch a hand or an arm. He doubts Spock would appreciate such an intimate gesture in public, as they are._ _ _ _

____Instead, he clears his throat. “What about Vulcans? What do your people believe?” Jim says, grabbing the golden opportunity just presented to move the conversation on and re-direct the spotlight on Spock._ _ _ _

____Spock’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, but Jim can also see he’s pleased, as he always is when Jim shows an interest in anything Vulcan. “We cherish and maintain our memories. We even have a ritual for sharing clan and familial memories, with each new generation. It is known as The Vokaya Farr.”_ _ _ _

____“The Time of Memory, seriously?” Jim says with a frown as he mentally translates the words._ _ _ _

____“Indeed, and as part of the ritual the following words are spoken by the clan matriarch before the passing of the memories to the chosen young ones. Part of it goes thus, ‘change is the essence of life. Only memory endures. And memory is the essence of ourselves. In memory, we endure, and immortality is in memory.’”_ _ _ _

____“When did you get so wise, Spock? You’re like a Vulcan version of Bones.”_ _ _ _

____Spock shoots him a sharp reproving look. “Now you are simply stooping to insult.”_ _ _ _

____Jim leans back in his chair and gives a bark of laughter. His grin is so wide his face is beginning to ache. He leans back over the table, arms resting, folded, on its edge. “Let’s get back to the game, so I can kick your ass.” A beat. “Again.”_ _ _ _

____“I would not be so confident if I were you,” Spock says, eyes narrowed slightly, a competitive glint shining in their depths. “As you Humans would say, ‘bring it on.’”_ _ _ _

____Jim knows he’s grinning like a complete loon as they return their attention back to their half-finished game, the shadows lengthening around them._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for any typos and for gratuitous use of grins and eye brow quirking. I've not had chance to double check this chapter. 
> 
> I’d like to point out here that The Vokaya Farr is Eimeo’s idea from her awesome fic, 'Words Unspoken.' which you can find here on AO3. Check it out, you won't be disappointed. 
> 
> So, many thanks’ to Eimeo for very kindly letting me borrow her Vulcan ritual for this story. 
> 
> The only thing that may count as plagiarism is the references to Cloud Forests that Jim is reading on the PADD, which I basically took from the SF Botanical Gardens website, as it’s basically all factual info and I didn't know the first thing about cloud forests. But, if you think I need to change it, let me know and I’ll do so.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short chapter. Though perhaps not very sweet.

Bar-codes of shadow and light chase each other along the walls as another hover car sweeps down the street outside Jim’s bedroom window. Jim tracks their progress with his eyes, before the light slowly retreats from the room.

With a sigh he rolls onto his left side and makes a half-hearted attempt to plump the pillow into something approaching comfortable. He closes his eyes and wills sleep to come. He’s spent hours already, tossing and turning, by turns pushing the duvet away and then pulling it back up. Nothing’s working. He suspects he knows why too. He’s alone with his thoughts. This isn’t a good thing, intent as they seem to be on spiraling down some deep dark pit. He feels restless and the room seems claustrophobic and airless, even with the window slightly ajar, and a soft breeze stealing in. 

With a groan he reaches out and snags a spare pillow, gathering it to his chest. Draping an arm over it he curls his body into a fetal position. It lends him scant comfort. Luckily, he’s alone so no one can see how pathetic he is. He recloses his eyes and waits again for sleep to claim him. It doesn’t. Which is hardly surprising, he thinks, given the stray and unwelcome emotions and memories floating at the edges of his consciousness. 

Eventually, he falls into a fitful sleep, where fractured dreams of warm skin on skin and the tickle of soft breath on his cheek haunt him. 

Something drags him back to the surface and his desire for sleep is thwarted once again. This is no good. He sits up and rubs at sleep deprived eyes with the heel of his hand, the duvet pooling in his lap. A bitter sensation coils in his gut, and a sudden and unexpected acrid taste soils his mouth. It’s reminiscent of earlier when Spock asked him about Gary’s esper abilities. The memory propels itself to the front of his mind. 

_“Well above average in all categories. His esper was 091; his apperception quotient was 20/104. Like I said, all above average.”_

_“Impressive for…”_

_“You think? It was more like a curse. What fucking use is it if you can’t even foretell your own death?”_

He suspects this is why slumber eludes him. This earlier conversation has stirred up feelings he’s tried to bury. He hadn’t realized just how angry he is about this. How angry that Gary died so young and couldn’t save himself. He hasn’t let himself think about Gary’s death for a long time. He doesn’t want to think about it now. 

Why now? With dismay he realizes he’s having one of those sudden moments of recollection and grief that hit like a sledgehammer - Why does grief come out of nowhere like that? He hates that it does. It's as if he’s being catapulted back to that dreaded day. He definitely doesn’t want to go there. No way!

He swallows his bitterness down and tries to force his mind to turn to other thoughts. He knows that sleep is a lost cause, so he gets out of bed, pulls on some sweats and heads downstairs to a dark and silent living room.

As he’s done on so many other nights he clicks the holo-vid on, dousing the room in its pale flickering glow, accentuating the shadows. He flops down apathetically in front of it, using one of the cushions as a lumpy pillow, as he listlessly channel surfs. 

Without much conscious thought he finds himself accessing the stored media files of Gary, and suddenly there he is, as large as life on the screen. Gary weeding the back yard, sweat-slicked shirt sticking to damp skin, as he pushes his bangs out of his eyes. Gary sun-bathing, stretched out like a sleepy cat in the sun, skin freckling, as he shields his eyes from the glare and turns to say something to Jim, desire clear in his gaze. 

Jim studies him, up there on the vid. Only he holds these memories. So it seems especially important to imprint them indelibly on his mind, so that they never fade. All the while little shards of another less welcome memory, as sharp as cut glass, stabs at his consciousness.

The vid rolls on. Only Jim had been there to capture the moment Gary awoke one morning. On screen Gary smiles softly, his head against the pillow and he mouths “I love you.” His smile edges wider. The image blurs, as tears seep out, despite Jim’s desperate efforts to hold them back. 

Suddenly, like floodgates opening or a levee breaking, the memory Jim has tried to avoid rushes agonizingly forward. The one he never wanted to re-visit. 

_The sun falls like honey, thick and golden, through the glass windows of the hospital corridor, softly bathing the floor with rich warm sunlight. The tree growing outside ripples shifting shadows over the floor, as the city bleaches a pale gray. He only notices because he’s trying to distract himself from the knot of worry that twists his stomach. His mind can’t form coherent thought, but that’s okay as Jim doesn’t want to think of anything at the moment._

_Just as he decides to haul ass back to the nurses station there’s the click, click of heels on the tiled floor, the rustle of fabric as a nurse sits beside him. Without asking she reaches out and takes hold of his hand. He glances down to where their hands are joined._

_Sugary pale pink nails gild small hands, mottled skin thinning as they approach middle age. Her holding his hand feels like a staged affectation, someone going through the motions of a principle they learnt in medical school. How (not) to break bad news and comfort patients’ loved ones 101, maybe. He doesn’t pull away, though he really wants to. He’s not sure why he doesn’t._

_She starts talking, but he’s only half listening. Her voice sounds so very far away. The words disjointed. But, it doesn’t matter as his brain latches on to the only relevant bit. No cognitive output. ‘Braindeadbraindead’ his own mind repeats in a sickening mantra. As her words spill out into the space between them something cold grips him inside, sending feathery crystals of frost creeping through his veins. The shock of her words is like a punch to the stomach, stealing his breath away._

_He manages with some effort to focus his attention back on the nurse as in the same matter-of-fact, almost disinterested tone, she asks if he’s okay. If he wants to see Gary now. He doesn’t dignify the first question with a response, because after what she’s just told him, everything joyful and decent in the world has been torn away in three short words. But after swallowing down his bile and licking dry lips, he can hear himself agreeing to her second suggestion. To his own ears, his voice sounds so very small and so very broken._

_He’s relieved when she lets go of his hand. He doesn’t even know her, but he hates her already._

_There’s another soft rustle of fabric as she stands and then the clickity-click of her heels as she leads the way down the corridor taking him to Gary’s room. He stands and numbly follows her._

_The intensive-care ward is eerily calm. The only sound the electronic beeping of the bed and the whisperings of medical staff. Jim thinks it’s a bleak and desolate place. He wants to escape from it, wants to turn and bolt, put as much distance between him and it as possible. But he remains rooted to the spot, too shocked to even speak. This is not the kind of place he could ever imagine Gary being, and yet here he is, lying still and silent hooked up to machines._

_The nurse is saying something else to him, but he tunes her out, his attention on Gary, pale and lifeless against the stark white sheets of the bio-bed. Eventually, a distant part of his brain registers the click of her heels fading into the distance and he is alone again._

_He shuffles closer to the bed. He can’t quite bring himself to look at Gary’s face. Not yet. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, but he’s afraid that this is the only way he’ll be able to remember him, and Jim doesn’t want this to be his last memory of him._

_Instead, Jim lets his gaze skitter over the rest of Gary’s body. He finds it hard to equate the image of a young and vibrant Gary, so full of life, with the person lying in the bed. He wants to reach out and touch him, but instead he finds himself clenching his hands into fists at his sides._

_Finally, taking a breath, he lets his gaze skim up Gary’s torso to his face. He looks peaceful, like he’s just sleeping, but as Jim looks upon him he knows with soul-destroying certainty that all hope is lost. His body is just a shell. All that was Gary is gone. And everything that Jim held precious is also gone. In the blink of an eye._

_Unshed tears sting his eyes, and a cold vice squeezes his heart. There’s a chair near the bed and Jim drops into it, as his ability to hold himself upright suddenly deserts him._

_He picks up Gary’s hand from atop the sheet and squeezes it in his own. Gary doesn’t reciprocate. The room is sunlit, but there are no last words. He gropes for comprehension, but it eludes him. At some point during a sunny summer afternoon, Gary left without saying goodbye._

Jim caves into his hurt, sobs wracking his body as he hides his face in the rough cushion, his howls of pain muffled. He weeps for what feels like an age, but as his tears finally run dry he can feel something uncurl inside, something shake loose, a letting go, and the already small lake of grief and pain lessen further still. 

Sniffing, he rubs his eyes with the heel of a hand and glances back to the holo-vid. On screen, Gary has just disappeared head first into the overgrown weeds and shrubs in the front yard. Jim can feel his lips twitch as a smile slowly melts over his face. He remembers this. They’d only arrived from Iowa a few months previously. Gary had been late joining Jim and their friends for a few drinks, and foolishly he’d tried to catch them up, drinking hard and fast on an empty stomach. 

On screen he can see himself and Bones trying to get Gary out of the shrubbery and through the front door of the house. Bones turns to the camera with a dark scowl, snapping at Finney to stop filming and lend a hand. As Jim watches the efforts of all concerned to keep Gary upright he can’t stop the irrepressible well of laughter bubbling up and breaking free. He laughs until his sides ache and then re-starts the vid from the beginning as dawn breaks behind the blinds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally part of my plan for the story, then I changed my mind and cut it (no doubt eager to get to the K/S goodness) but I changed my mind again and here it is. I just think that Jim needs this final cathartic moment before he can truly move on. 
> 
> Sadly, you've all now caught me up :( so unfortunately, I won't be posting chapters weekly. I'll try and get them to you as quickly as poss. but as I'm a slow writer chapters could be spaced one to two months apart (hopefully no longer). Sorry.
> 
> I hope many of you will stay with the fic until the end, even with the delays.


	30. Twenty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. I know it's been a while since the last chappie. Hopefully, the following chapter will go some way to apologising for that.

Jim awakes confused, not able to place where he is, what’s awakened him, or even what day it is. He keeps sleep-encrusted eyes closed as he waits for his mind to slip into gear. Oh yeah, he fell asleep on the sofa sometime after dawn while watching old recordings on the holo-vid. His lips twitch in a smile at the memory. After a moment he registers that someone is gently shaking his foot, softly calling his name. He knows that voice. Groggily, he cracks open an eye. Sure enough, Winona looms over him, amusement and the flickering, fleeting shadow of something indecipherable in her gaze.

“Oh, hi,” he says, struggling up into a sitting position. He squints up at her. “What are you doing here?”

Winona quirks a brow, and Jim hastily amends. “Not that you’re not welcome, because you totally are.” He frowns as something occurs to him. “How’d you get in anyway?”

“Well, I did stand on the doorstep pressing the comm. for what seemed like forever,” she says, lips just barely twitching, before favoring him with a frown of her own. “It was strange. As I was about to give up the door just clicked open. You should get that checked out, honey.”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, casting a glance towards the hallway. That’s all he needs, a busted lock.

The sound of Winona’s voice pulls his attention back. “You know, you looked so peaceful laying there that I was a little hesitant to wake you up.”

Jim stretches, a yawn overtaking him. “…Fell asleep in front of the vid.”

“You certainly know how to have a good time, don't you?”

“Yeah, I’m a total party animal.” He grins.

Winona flops down on the sofa next to him, an “ahh,” escaping her lips, as she sinks back in to the cushions. Kicking off her shoes she lays her head back, eyes slipping closed. “Well, you’re an uncle again.”

Silence blooms. Jim waits patiently for her to elaborate. As he waits he notes that even though it’s mid-morning, the only light falling through the large window is dull and watery, leaving the room drenched in gloom. He turns to sit sideways, facing Winona, who looks as if she’s on the verge of falling to sleep.

“Well, is that it?” Jim asks. “No name, no nothing?”

Her head lolls to the side, towards him, and an eye cracks open. ”We have another James in the family.” She rolls her eyes, a playful glint in their wintry depths. “Whatever is the universe to do with another Jim Kirk?”

Jim’s barely listening. Well, look at that, Sam and Aurie have actually named their new baby after him. He’s no longer the only Jim Kirk, and he’s not completely sure how he feels about that. But even so he can feel a grin slowly melt across his face. He’ll have to pay them a visit. Bring a gift.

Turning his attention back to Winona he scrutinizes her more closely. She looks as exhausted as he feels. The skin under her eyes is a shade darker, her eyes heavy-lidded, their gray color leached, leaving them like overcast Iowan skies. Her hair is limp and looks unwashed, wispy tendrils breaking free of their clips to fall lankly against her neck. Even her dark woolen suit looks rumpled and ill-fitting on her slender frame.

He knows that she’s stayed with Aurie through what looks like, from Winona’s weary and disheveled appearance, a long labor. Taking the place of Aurie’s own estranged mother. He finds it strangely comforting to know the Kirk family is not alone in their dysfunction.

Winona seems to be unaware of his scrutiny. “He’s just so tiny and perfect. Tiny button nose and rose-bud lips.” Eyes still closed, she inhales deeply, a dreamy look on her face. “Hmm, that new baby smell. There’s nothing like it. I could have spent all morning just holding him and inhaling.”

“Uh?” Jim doesn’t have a response to that. He needs a distraction that will steer the conversation away from all things baby related, and with that thought he belatedly remembers his manners. “Oh, sorry. Do you want a drink, or anything?” A beat. “Tea?”  


His mother looks exhausted and he’s clearly a terrible host. Maybe Winona will finally drink more of the tea he only got in the first place for her benefit. It’s worth a shot. He gives a mental shrug. If not, Spock seems to love tea, so maybe he could gift it to the Vulcan. At the thought of Spock he suddenly feels lighter, and delicious warmth begins to coil in his chest.

Winona opens her eyes and sits up, turning to regard him. “I’ve got a better idea. I’ll make us breakfast.” She flicks a glance towards the chronometer. “Or rather brunch, while you go freshen up. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good.” He stands and stretches, and with one final glance at Winona, he pads silently towards the door to head up the stairs.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Jim makes his way to the kitchen, drawn there by the scent of oatmeal fusing with the rich aroma of fresh coffee. He hesitates briefly on the threshold, and watches as Winona, standing near the replicator, scoops cereal into bowls. Observing the scene, Jim is transported back to early childhood. To, and at least in comparison to what would come later, a happier, more sunlit time, before Frank arrived, before she started running away to the vast vacuum of space. Watching her now he’s struck by how much smaller she appears, her shoulders drooping, as though they bear the weight of the world.

She turns and places the bowls on the table just as Jim enters the room. Catching his eye she gives him a small smile.

“So, a fun packed evening in front of the holo, was it?” Winona asks in her softly lilting voice as she sits down to join him.

He gives a wry smile. “Hardly.”

“I should hope you’re not stuck in the house every evening?” she says, obviously trying to keep her voice upbeat and teasing, but evidently thinking back to his existence of only a few short months ago.

He shoots her a sideways glance. “Stay indoors? Jim Kirk! Pffft.”

Winona gives no indication of having heard him. “You don’t want to end up alone,” she says quietly, and even though there’s no inflection in her tone, Jim still hears the silent, ‘like me’ behind it.

“Never happen! I’m just too irresistible,” he jokes, trying to lift the vibe back to what it was earlier, because he can tell that her mood has dropped while he’s been busy upstairs, and he’s not sure why.

“I did wonder why I was nearly crushed in the stampede to your door,” she says lightly, but as she picks up her cup to take a sip of coffee, her expression is imbued with sympathy.

It almost makes him wince, and his spoon slows its progress to his mouth, as he wonders if Winona sees him as having joined her in permanent mourning. Maybe she feels less alone if she assumes she’s not the only one carrying their grief around like barbed wire beneath the skin. Maybe he’s being unfair to her, but while he loves her and feels for her, he hasn’t joined that club yet, and he’s determined he never will.

To reassure her, but especially to remove that mien of pity from her face, he starts telling her about watching Gary on the holo. He doesn’t mention how he started the viewing sobbing like a baby. Rather, he tells her how he laughed at Gary’s antics, how he found comfort in remembering him. As breakfast progresses he finds himself sharing some of these memories, especially the ones that made him laugh.

Before he knows it, he feels a familiar feeling unfurling in his gut. The feeling that always makes him ask the questions they both always end up regretting. He wants Winona to share with him some of her memories of his father, because how else is he to know him? Real memories, not second hand ones from distant relatives, or more often, and even more melodramatically, from newsreels. But he knows she won’t.

When he lived in Riverside, he would occasionally broach the subject, mostly while drunk. In sober hindsight he can see it was the worst time possible to raise it, the results were never pretty and he only succeeded in making Winona withdraw further. Looking back it’s clear to Jim that she was too afraid to face up to the finality of it all.

But…but, this is probably his last chance. Now or never.

"I've been wondering," he says hesitantly, before taking a breath and rushing on, “how about dad? I bet there’s loads of stuff on old holos?” He knows his expression is hopeful, despite long experience telling him that he’s wasting his time. “You know, we should totally dig them out and…” His voice tails off. _This is such a stupid idea. Don’t I ever learn?_

Her reaction is muted, indecipherable. She stands and moves to the fridge and withdraws a carton of milk she clearly doesn’t need. Slowly she returns to the table. He can see that she’s biting her lip, expression suddenly pensive. Jim isn’t sure if it’s anger or disappointment with him for yet again steering the conversation in a direction she doesn’t want to go, or whether she’s too upset to speak. He feels guilty for asking. He hasn’t even got the excuse of being drunk. A part of him wants to take the question back, but a bigger part of him doesn’t.

Their relationship is much improved, and he doesn’t see the point in ruining what they have now. After all he’s largely forgiven her for being absent most of his childhood, for allowing Frank to rule their lives with fear and a side order of alcoholism. But she’s been a great support to him since Gary died. He can’t fault her there.

“It doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, gaze dropping back to his nearly empty cereal bowl.

Again, silence spreads between them, this one more brittle. Jim could kick himself. Why on earth did he think it a good idea to throw this conversation killer onto the table? He knows the answer though, because he wants to know the father he never met, because he hopes that, if only Winona will allow herself, remembering him will bring her some small comfort.

“I’ve taken a desk job at the shipyards,” Winona suddenly says, breaking the awkward stillness.

He slants a glance upwards. “Oh!”

“Yeah, I think it’s about time I settled down. I’m getting far too old to gallivant around space.”

In response Jim drops his gaze and busies himself with the last of his breakfast.

“You’ve got nothing to say?”

“What is there to say?”

“Surely you have something?”

“I don’t think that’d be a good idea,” he says, voice and shoulders tight.

“Why not? You’ve never been one to keep your opinions to yourself.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead he stirs his coffee with a sort of grim determination, fingers pale where he grips the spoon. He can sense Winona’s appraisal from his peripheral vision.

He’s too busy attempting to keep a lid on his emotions. A flood of them flow through him like quicksilver. He doesn’t know which to acknowledge or process first. Resentment tinged with anger is chief among those shifting feelings. Why didn’t she stay dirt side when two young children needed her? Why take a desk job now when it doesn’t matter?

Suddenly, he needs to be somewhere other than the kitchen and its abruptly awkward silence. Scraping his chair back with a teeth clenching squeal over the tile, he stands and stalks away into the living room, rapidly cooling coffee in hand.

He goes to stand at the window, placing his mug on the sill. Outside, darkly sinister rain-swollen clouds move sluggishly across an ash colored sky, the street below cloaked in shadow.

A fleeting, pain-filled memory flits across his mind’s eye, one of many farewells at the space port in Des Moines.

_“…and don’t forget to send loads of holos and vids. I want to see what’s happening in your lives, want to watch you both grow up”_

_“Mom!” he says, irritated. A small snide part of him thinks that if she wants to be a part of their lives then she should damn well stay._

_“Just humor me, eh?”_

_He gives a sullen nod._

_Suddenly, she hugs him fiercely and he feels a gentle kiss dropped to the crown of his head. All too soon, she’s pulling back, putting distance between them. She gazes down with stormy grey eyes that hold affection tempered with sadness, and Jim has to look away as he swallows past the lump in his throat._

Despite twenty-four years he doesn’t fool himself that he has any real grasp of the rocky terrain of their relationship. Neither of them truly read the map. They both just stumble across the terrain, hoping not to break their necks along the way. Hell, even the most sophisticated geo-positioning system would be hard pressed to negotiate that topography.

He guesses his central grievance is that Winona just seems to see him in reference to his dead father. He exhales wearily, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Damn it.”

He senses Winona coming to stand beside him, and he casts a surreptitious glance sideways. She’s staring out the window, arms folded, almost defensively across her chest.

“I know that I haven’t been the best mother. I wanted to be a good mom. The mom you both deserved…” she trails off before continuing, her voice little more than a whisper. “I didn’t mean for either of you to be hurt. I screwed up, didn’t I?”

He catches the sadness and the fleeting hint of raw vulnerability in her gaze, and like a balloon deflating all the frustration and resentment drain out of him. 

“No, you didn’t.” _Well, not totally._ “It wasn’t all…”

“Yeah, right,” she says, cutting him off, her expression skeptical. “I’m sorry. It’s just…another grandchild’s been born who your father will never meet.”

There it is; the main reason for Winona’s despondent mood. Jim turns back to look out of the window, unsure of what to say. Because what can you say. They stand together, shoulders almost touching, watching the gathering gloom.

The weight of her gaze upon him pulls his attention back to her. A faint smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as she regards him.

“You know, I remember one winter when your father and I were still dating, back in the early days. We were at Grandpa Tiberius’ house. It had snowed real hard and it was getting late, so we set out to walk the six miles back to my parent’s house.”

Her eyes drift back towards the window, but her expression tells Jim that she’s lost in her memories, the years slipping away, back to a time before her happiness was stained with the bitterness of grief.

“It was so dark, so silent. A muffled quiet, like the deep snow had smothered all the noise. It was bitterly cold, but also eerily beautiful. It felt like we were the only two people in the world.”

Even though her words have become almost poetic, Jim daren’t tease her for it, daren’t say anything. He dare not even breathe. Instead he stands silent and motionless. This is the first time in a quarter of a century she’s shared even a drop of memory relating in any way to his father, and he’ll be damned if he’s going to break whatever spell she’s under now.

So, he listens as she tells him of the journey back to her parent’s house. How when they finally reached it, they stood for what seemed like hours outside saying their goodbyes. How, without her even letting her parent’s know that she had arrived home, they turned around and hand in hand walked the six miles back again to the Kirk family home.

“On the way back it started to snow again. I remember stopping and looking up at the sky to watch as the swirling flakes fell towards me. It was almost dizzying. I stuck my tongue out and caught a few, and when I turned back to George, he was looking at me with such…” She takes a couple of shuddering breaths, before quickly brushing away a stray tear.

Winona flashes Jim a watery smile. “So anyway, we made a few snow angels, had a snowball fight, and many hours later we made it back to George’s parents.”

Jim finally finds his voice. “What did they say when you both arrived back again?”

“Oh, we snuck in. No need to wake the whole house up. The falling snow had melted and soaked into our clothes, so we were both more than a little damp and very cold. We made a bed with blankets on the living room floor,” she says with a soft smile.

His mind goes temporarily blank and he can think of nothing to say. He’s not sure why, out of all the countless memories she must have of his father and their time together, she shared this particular one with him. _Dad sounds like a hopeless romantic._

But he’s not going to reject it now. Instead he gathers her words to him, and hides them away, close to his heart. He can’t count on Winona to say anything further on the subject, so he guesses he better treasure the gift she has given.

On impulse he pulls her into a hug. There’s a nearly inaudible hitch in his voice as he whispers, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I just want you to be happy,” she whispers back.

When the hug stretches to awkward they pull away from each other. She looks at him as if she’s seeing him for the first time, and he her.

Winona clears her throat. “Life has many challenges; happiness shouldn’t be one of them.” She smiles ruefully. “I may have got that from the back of a cereal packet, or something.”

Jim chuckles.

She turns back to the window, and Jim knows she’s struggling to contain a conflict of emotions. He knows this because he’s struggling a little too. She has, after all, re-arranged the landscape of their relationship, however temporarily. This is her attempt to get things between them back on track and he resolves to help with that.

“It’s so miserable and gray out there,” she says softly.

He glances sideways at her, mischief brimming. “Not quite as gray as your head mom.”

“Oh you,” she says, slapping his bicep playfully. He laughs, and suddenly both are comfortable in the other’s presence again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! We've passed the 100,000 word mark.
> 
> So, hope that wasn't too disappointing, but we are at the stage where I'm beginning to close up a few lose ends. 
> 
> They'll be more of Jim and Spock's growing relationship in the next chapter, which I'll try and get to you as soon as possible.
> 
> In the meantime - Happy New Year. All the best for 2016.


	31. Chapter Thirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, short chapter, but hopefully enjoyable just the same.

The city sidewalks are bustling in the glare of autumnal sunshine, the air crisp and clear. A young couple strolling hand in hand in front of Jim stop to share a brief kiss before continuing on their way and Jim waits for his heart to give the familiar little lurch of pain. It doesn’t. He thinks maybe it should, even just a little bit. After all, he’s just come from dropping some of Gary’s clothes off at a local charity, thus closing yet another chapter on that part of his life, and while it did sting at the moment of letting Gary’s things go, it was a fleeting pain, quick to subside. A brief sadness for a life lost, for what might have been.

Now as he strolls down a street lined with buildings whose smooth mirrored planes stretch towards the cloudless heavens in sharp serrated lines, he fizzes with anticipation and exhilaration. He’s on his way to meet Spock. The thought does make his heart lurch, but not with pain. He knows he’s grinning like a fool, but he doesn’t care, he’s the happiest he’s been in a long while. He doesn’t dare hope it’ll last, because well, he knows better. But he’ll enjoy it now, while he can. 

Jim turns left, on to a wide open plaza, level and stone-flagged, strewn with trees and the tables of nearby cafés. At the far end an open air ice rink stretches out, bordered by a waist-high blue wall. Jim looks for Spock, but doesn’t spot him among the small crowd already gathered, so he strides forward and joins the back of the line waiting for skates. But, much like on Federation Day and the lively Embarcadero he feels a small flutter of doubt. Vulcans and ice skating? He shrugs the tiny niggling uncertainty away as Bones’ voice echoes clear in his head, _“Spock isn’t the missing jigsaw piece, so don’t try and force him into the gap left by Gary.”_ This is the start of something new. 

Jim reaches the front of the queue. A bored looking youth passes him a set of skates and Jim sits to exchange his scuffed but comfortable boots for the blades. He’s acutely aware of Spock’s presence when the Vulcan quietly approaches and sits beside him. Suddenly, all Jim can feel is the rapid beating of his own heart and the blood rushing in his ears.

“Hi, Spock,” he says, looking up, a wide smile already stretching across his lips.

“Afternoon Jim,” Spock responds, lips quirking in a hint of a corresponding smile.

They sit side by side on the bench as Spock attends to his own footwear. Jim notes that Spock is flicking quick wary glances towards the ice from under his bangs. 

“We can go do something else,” Jim says, waving a vague hand in the general direction of the rink. “We don’t have to embarrass ourselves out there.” 

Spock secures his skate and turns his attention to Jim. “Have you changed your mind? I was under the impression you desired to partake in this activity.”

“I do, but only if you do too. The whole idea is that it should be fun, for both of us.”

Spock regards him, his gaze soft. “Please do not concern yourself on my behalf Jim. I am, in fact, not totally inexperienced where this particular endeavor is concerned.”

“You’ve skated before?” 

“Affirmative. Though, admittedly it was many years ago, when I was a young child visiting my cousins in Vancouver with my mother, and even then it was only on two relatively brief occasions.”

Jim huffs a quiet laugh. “We’re a good match then, because it’s not like I’m bursting at the seams with skating know-how.”

A slanted brow flares towards Spock’s hairline. “I was under the impression you have a prodigious amount of know –how regarding an exceedingly vast range of topics,” Spock says, dryly.

“Whoever gave you that idea?” Spock’s response is a pointed look, and Jim barks a laugh.

As Spock continues to regale him with memories of his visit to Vancouver, Jim listens with half an ear, the rest of his attention taken with indulging his constant need to soak in the sheer physical presence of the Vulcan sitting just inches away. Raw desire sears his skin as his eyes meander over the Vulcan’s long lean form, and unconsciously his hands grip the edge of the bench more tightly. As Jim’s gaze drifts back to Spock’s face it stalls at the Vulcan’s lips and a sudden sharp envy takes root as he watches the words caress Spock’s mouth and fall from his lips. He images his own tongue mapping the same contours the words have traveled and his mouth goes suddenly dry.

Jim clears his throat, licks dry lips. “You ready?” he says, standing.

“Indeed.”

They approach the rink and with a quick grin at Spock, Jim ventures a few feet onto the ice. With a little wobble he turns carefully to watch Spock’s progress. The Vulcan steps into the arena with a more assured air than Jim would have credited him for. 

In unison they step into the flow of other skaters and slowly make their way clockwise around the perimeter. Spock isn’t half bad, certainly not as bad as Jim feared. He’s robbed of some his usual grace, especially in the turns, but otherwise he’s pretty decent for someone who hails from a desert planet. While he does fall occasionally, it’s not as often as Jim expected. 

A couple of laps later and Spock’s left foot slides out from under him and he falls untidily to the ice, legs spread like a gangly colt. Without a second thought Jim reaches out and grabs his gloved hand, pulling him upright. Spock doesn’t seem to mind the public contact.

Jim chuckles sympathetically. “You okay? Want to go again?”

Spock nods an affirmative, though Jim notes the faint tint of green that suddenly adorns his cheekbones. He’s not sure if the Vulcan is embarrassed at falling, or at the fact they’re holding hands. Spock, however, doesn’t immediately remove his hand from Jim’s, and when Jim looks up it’s to find Spock regarding him with dark eyes shadowed with affection. Jim finds he can’t look away. The spell is only broken when Spock, with a barely perceptible cough, gently removes his hand from his and Jim has to swallow down his disappointment.

To distract himself Jim casts his gaze down to Spock’s feet. He taps Spock’s left skate lightly, nudging it closer to the other. “Stand a little straighter and keep your feet just a touch closer together,” he says, voice faintly husky, “you’ll have better control.”

“Thank you, Jim,” Spock says, his own voice warm. 

As they complete another couple of slow circuits, Jim wishes he still had a firm hold of Spock’s gloved hand, for no other reason than he wants to hold it, wants so desperately to touch him, even with the barrier of the glove. The urge is so strong that Jim’s fingers twitch with the desire to close the gap between them. Interspecies etiquette, you moron. He quickly beats back the impulse with an effort, forcing his hand into a fist at his side. He casts a surreptitious glance towards the Vulcan. Spock is gliding slowly beside him, eyes cast down in rapt concentration.

It’s not just the desire to touch, Jim realizes as he studies Spock. He desperately wants to know him. He knows so much about him already, after their many months of friendship, but suddenly it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.

They complete another circuit. Spock manages to stay on his feet longer this time; maybe the couple of times he skated as a child are coming back to him. “You’re getting better.” Jim smirks. “You managed two whole laps there.”

“You are not the only one surprised by that fact.”

Jim chuckles. “You’re doing great.” He tries to think of something that will help Spock relax. An idea blooms to life. An idea that can kill two birds with one stone; one that can help Spock stay upright and allow Jim to learn more about him. 

“Hey Spock, want to make this more interesting?” 

Spock’s brows pull together in a slight frown. “Is it not already interesting?”

“Sure it is. It’s great. But, how about we take it to a whole new level of interesting?”

As Spock wobbles, pin-wheeling his arms to keep his balance, he looks faintly alarmed. “As the current level is proving rather taxing at present, I seriously doubt my ability to perform at any higher level of interesting, as you call it.”

“This’ll help you, Spock,” Jim says, coming to a halt beside the perimeter wall and motioning for Spock to do the same. “Trust me. It’s not like I’m asking you to perform a BiDs.”

“BiDs?” Spock says, tone questioning, as he glances back down towards the ice, trying to steady himself now they are no longer moving.

“Yep, otherwise known as a backwards inside death spiral.”

“Death spiral?” Spock looks up sharply, a brow arching towards his bangs. 

At Spock’s expression laughter swells in Jim’s chest. “Yeah, but don’t worry, I’m not gonna ask you to do one of those.” A beat. “Well, not this week.”

“That is indeed fortunate,” Spock mutters dryly. 

“Here’s what we’ll do on the next two laps. On the first lap I’ll tell you some things about myself. On the second lap it’ll be your turn to tell me something about yourself. Deal?”

Spock tilts his head slightly, gaze contemplative. “Agreed.”

“Okay, a few rules. You can give facts, anecdotes, or share memories. But no interruptions, no questions and nothing we’ve already told each other.”

“Very well, I agree to those terms.”

“So, you ready?” At Spock’s nod, he adds. “Let’s go.”

A little unsteadily they set off again, blending into the tide of skaters. Jim begins. “At next birthday I’ll be twenty-five. My favorite color is green. I love coffee, spicy food and the smell of cut grass. I’m a secret bibliophile. Oh, and I aim to be the youngest captain in Fleet history.” He sneaks a peak at the Vulcan beside him and smirks at the expression on Spock’s face in response to his last statement.

He draws in a breath. “Hmm, let’s see. One winter back in Iowa I had the totally awesome idea of a summer snowball fight.” Another swift glance in Spock’s direction tells Jim he has his full attention. “So, Sam and I made a heap of snowballs and froze them in an old freezer out in the barn. Then when summer came we had our impromptu fight.” He grins at the memory. “It must have been the quickest in history just cos the snow was melting so fast.

“Another time, when I was pretty young, maybe five or so, I asked Sam for help fastening my sneaker.” He sends Spock a conspiratorial wink. “Of course, I already knew how, and if Sam had been quicker on the up-take he’d have realized it too. Anyhow, as he knelt down in front of me, I stuck my gum to the crown of his head.” Laughter bubbles in his chest and he swallows it back down to stop it escaping. “He didn’t even realize at first, but when he did, it was too late. It had dried and stuck fast and Winona had to cut it out, taking a clump of hair with it. He was so pissed; I thought he was going to kill me.” The laugh does escape, carefree and joyful and he basks in the moment.

Once his mirth has ebbed he notices Spock regarding him with a clear question in his soft gaze. 

Jim shrugs. “Sibling rivalry I guess. It’s what siblings do, or brothers anyway. Besides, he gave as good as I did.” Jim gives a shake of his head. “Hell, some of the things he did to me.”

“Maybe I am fortunate then to lack siblings.” Spock doesn’t look sad, he looks amused and Jim smiles in response. They continue to make slow progress around the rink, ushered by the hum of the bustling city, the low rumble of overhead traffic, the babble of conversation and the swish of dozens of blades cutting through ice. 

“I continue to be enthralled by the details I learn about you.” Spock says softly, his words causing a flood of warmth to spread through Jim’s chest, threatening to overwhelm him. Their eyes catch and hold for a long intense filled moment, and butterflies swarm in Jim’s stomach.

Spock breaks eye contract first. “However, I must bring your attention to the actuality that you have related facts that have been previously made known or are known to me. Indeed, I could hardly miss your high regard for caffeine.”

“Yeah, now if I could only persuade Bones to set up an IV, so I can have it intravenously.” 

“Jim, the parameters for this exercise are ones you yourself set,” Spock says, determined not to be sidetracked. 

“Okay, okay, we’ll relax the rules. You can mention stuff I already know, too.” Jim rolls his eyes. “Pedantic much?”

A slow blink. “Hardly.”

They complete the lap and Jim turns to Spock. “Your turn. Go.”

“Very well.” There is a brief pause. “I will be twenty-eight on my next birthday. I favor Earth classical music. I play the Ka’athyra, which is a type of stringed instrument, reminiscent of a Terran lute. I have a preference for bertakk soup and pre-tarmeeli, which is a rather piquant entrée.

“On a further visit to my cousins in Vancouver I was involved in a rather unfortunate incident which led to my aunt’s bathroom being flooded. Regrettably, the water seeped through to the room below. Father was most displeased.” 

Jim raises an eyebrow. 

“I was led astray,” is Spock’s low response.

“Of course,” Jim says, expression deadpan.

“As a young child I would sometimes try to sneak my pet sehlat, I-Chaya, into my bedroom. Other times I would climb out of my bedroom window and up onto the roof of our home. From there I could see the constellations and...”

“Hey, that’s something else we have in common. Except in my case it was the roof of the barn. I would take a blanket up with me, lay back and look at the stars.”

“Jim, you have just discarded yet another of the rules you yourself set.”

Jim huffs an exaggerated, but good-humored sigh. “I live to break the rules.”

“Indeed. It had not escaped my notice,” Spock responds, lips twitching. 

They have nearly completed the lap. Spock’s voice drops, becoming almost hesitant. “I have to come to realize that I find the color blue to be rather aesthetically pleasing.” 

Jim’s head snaps up sharply, to find Spock gazing at him, eyes soft, but with a hint of something almost smoldering hidden in their depths. It hits him like a ton of bricks and Jim feels his stomach flip. 

He swallows hard. “You know, between smoke bombs at school and flooding relative’s homes, I’m beginning to think you were just a juvenile delinquent.” He’s relieved to find that his voice is almost steady. 

“I rather suspect that is a label that could more accurately be applied to yourself.”

Jim shrugs, but he can feel a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, you’d be right.”

They manage to complete four more circuits before Spock falls again. 

****

A white waxing gibbous moon sits in an almost cloudless sky. It’s just past dusk, the sky darkening to indigo, and while it’s still light enough to see by, everything is doused in a silvery sheen, reminiscent of one of Jim’s old movies. 

As they walk together along the shadowed sidewalk, Jim keeps sneaking peaks at the Vulcan. Spock is silhouetted by the falling dusk, hair ruffling in the slight breeze. He watches as Spock wraps his dark blue scarf more tightly around his neck.

All too soon they reach the intersection, halting beneath the ghostly glow thrown by a streetlamp. This is where they’ll part ways. Jim feels an unpleasant tug in his chest at the thought. 

“Thank you, Jim. Today has been most pleasant.” 

“No, thank you, Spock, for agreeing to share it with me.” 

He watches as Spock takes his ever present black woolen hat out of his pocket and places it over his tousled hair. Jim frowns momentarily at the incongruity of Spock’s mismatched knitwear. The Vulcan is usually so meticulous. 

“Jim,” Spock says softly, pulling Jim’s attention away from his idle musing. 

Spock’s gaze is intense enough to make him almost want to look away. He doesn’t. He can’t. He licks his dry lips, heart racing. 

There’s a long moment of silence, as the world retreats, and something fizzes between them like static. Without thinking and mindless of the city street, Jim stretches two fingers out hesitantly. To his surprise Spock reaches to meet them. 

As their fingers meet and Spock’s cool dry skin brushes softly against his, Jim feels the familiar jolt of electricity sizzle up his arm, causing every nerve ending in his body to catch fire in a burst of sparks. His breath hitches. At this moment nothing else exists, just the soft touch of Spock’s fingers caressing his.

Jim wants to make the moment last for as long as possible, but all too soon Spock’s hand is withdrawing and Jim feels bereft at the loss. So much so that he burns with the desire to reach out, to touch. It’s only with a supreme effort of will that he forces his arms to remain at his sides. 

He flashes a grin. “See you tomorrow, Spock?”

“Of course,” Spock says with a slight nod of his head and a twitch of his lips. “Goodnight, Jim.” 

“Night Spock.” 

The Vulcan turns and walks away. Jim watches until he is swallowed by the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up in a couple of days, so keep an eye out for it.
> 
> Thanks to my beta, the wonderful Fagur Fiskur.


	32. Chapter Thirty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short (but hopefully sweet).

They walk through the dark streets, the translucent glow of the street lights stringing out like pearls down the sidewalk and beyond, their pale glow reflecting in splintered fragments in the puddles which lie sparsely over the damp tarmac. The puddles ripple in the soft breeze. The smell of rain hangs heavy in the air. It’s late, but even so it’s rare for a city street to be this deserted.

Jim steals a sideways glance at Spock, who is walking quietly and serenely beside him, hands clasped behind his back. Jim knows the time is now, the perfect opportunity to ask the question he’s been itching to ask for days, ever since their date at the ice rink.

“Hey Spock, what does that gesture mean?” Jim asks, casually.

“To which gesture do you refer?” Spock responds.

Jim rolls his eyes. Spock is being deliberately obtuse. 

“You know which one. This one,” Jim says, demonstrating by holding out the index and second finger of his left hand, while tucking his other fingers into his palm. He reaches out and because Spock still has his hands clasped behind his back and is bungled up in thick layers because of the chill in the air, Jim runs his fingers down Spock’s coat sleeve. The texture of the material is rough against his fingers. He feels a thrum of nervous anticipation run through him. 

“Ah, that gesture,” Spock says, in an infuriatingly insouciant tone.

Jim narrows his eyes at him. Yeah, he’s definitely being thickheaded on purpose, but Jim isn’t giving up easily, especially when he knows what he wants and is determined to get it.

Spock stops walking and turns to regard Jim, an unreadable expression in his dark eyes. Jim stills and holds his breath. He can feel his heart begin to beat faster.

Spock’s gaze travels up past Jim, to the branches of the tree they are standing under. Jim raises his eyes too, to see just what has grabbed Spock’s attention, because really, what could possibly be more interesting than making out with him? 

Even in the gloom the tree seems to sparkle as beads of rainwater, reflecting the glow from a nearby street light, slowly drip from the leaves. One hits Jim on the head and he resists the urge to shiver. Just as his limited patience is beginning to wear thin, Spock’s voice breaks in softly. “I believe a demonstration would be the most appropriate method of response to your query.”

Jim looks back to Spock, and sees the Vulcan looking at him intently, eyes dark with amusement, and something more, something smoldering. Jim does shiver. He finds he can’t break eye contact, as only Spock stands sharply defined against the fading backdrop.

Jim licks dry lips, and says, hopefully. “Demonstration?” 

“Indeed.”

Jim does break eye-contact as his gaze becomes riveted to Spock’s fingers, as the Vulcan mimics Jim’s gesture from moments before, folding his last two fingers and thumb towards his palm, keeping only his first two fingers extended.

“This is known as the Ozh’esta,” Spock says, reaching out to gently run both fingers down Jim’s left cheek. Jim exhales a soft breath, his cheek tingling where Spock leaves his touch.

“This is what it means when translated into Human.”

Spock leans forwards and Jim’s next breath stalls in his chest. He feels Spock’s cheek brush against his, feels soft breath and stubble caress his skin before a gentle kiss is placed on his cheek in the exact place where it still tingles slightly from Spock’s touch.

All too quickly Spock is leaning back again, much to Jim’s disappointment. They regard each other, neither seemingly able to look away. Jim knows he can’t. The world fades into the distance, and Jim can only see Spock before him. He fills Jim’s whole world at that moment. 

Spock seems to be waiting. Jim decides to push the moment. _Play dumb._ “I think a further demonstration is in order. I’m not quite getting what you’re trying to teach me.”

Spock gives one of his rare smiles, his gaze darkening, and Jim’s heart flips a beat.

“Very well,” Spock says, re-forming his hand into the Ozh’esta and signalling for Jim to do the same. 

They touch fingers and as always a tingle, like a static shock, runs through Jim’s hand, up his arm and into his brain, making him shudder deliciously. He knows Spock can feel it too. Spock rubs his fingers almost obscenely over Jim’s, before breaking the Vulcan kiss. 

“And this is what it means in Human,” Spock murmurs, voice thick and low.

He moves forward, into Jim’s personal space, and Jim’s breathing quickens, butterflies swarming in his stomach. He feels he could catch fire. His heart beats so hard against his ribs and his skin grows warm as delicious anticipation grips him. 

Spock closes the distance and their lips meet, tentatively at first, just the barest brush of lip upon lip. 

Spock’s fingertips brush the back of Jim’s neck as he is embraced. Jim can feel each fingertip burning his skin like a brand, every nerve alight and tingling. It runs all the way down his spine and pools in his stomach, a warm flush of arousal washing through him. 

The kiss deepens and lengthens. Jim’s tongue seeks entrance to Spock’s mouth and he’s granted access. Spock tastes of something spicy and Jim can’t get enough. He puts all his effort into the kiss, all his desire, all his feelings for Spock, all his longing.

All doubts are gone. There is only this.

Spock’s hands have slipped to Jim’s waist and he has gently but firmly pulled Jim flush against him. He can feel Spock’s hardness rub against his own, and he gives a low moan in the back of his throat. The warm flush of arousal swells to a tidal wave, and he tries to plaster himself even closer to Spock, kissing desperately. His right hand tangles in Spock’s hair, silken strands slipping through Jim’s fingers. He’s delighted to discover the hair is as soft and as silky as he imagined it. He wants nothing more than to continue running his fingers through it.

Eventually he has to breathe and reluctantly they pull apart slightly, foreheads touching, sharing breath. Jim stands there wordless and light-headed with happiness.

“Wow!” he finally manages.

“Indeed,” is the softly spoken response. 

“You sneaky Vulcan, all this time you’ve been stealing kisses.” From where his forehead rests against Spock’s, Jim can see the upward twitch of Spock’s lips, below the long dark lashes fanned out over pale cheekbones.

Unable to resist, Jim leans back towards Spock and wraps his arms around the Vulcan’s neck, burying his face in Spock’s shoulder. He smells wonderful, dry and spicy, like Jim images the desert to be. He inhales deeply, sucking in the unique scent of him. 

Finally Jim slowly, reluctantly pulls away. “These are just the kind of Vulcan lessons I like. I think further lessons are in order, Spock. More advanced lesson” His grin widens to a smirk. “You’ll find I’m a very eager student.”

“As I would not wish to deny you an adequate education in all things Vulcan, I do believe further lessons can indeed be arranged.”

Jim swallows.

A faint breeze blows, and a cascade of leaves, in mulled wine and burnt copper, cartwheel lazily down to flutter across the sparkling rain-drenched street. 

Jim laughs.

“Is there something amusing?” Spock says, quirking a brow in query.

Jim reaches out and pulls a leaf from Spock’s hair. “This,” he says, holding the damp leaf out for Spock’s inspection.

“Ah. Thank you.”

Jim grins. Before he can become lost again in Spock’s gaze he forces himself to look away, glancing instead down the gloomy street.

"Shall we?” He gestures for Spock to walk.

“Indeed.”

They turn and continue down the street, shoulders almost touching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure when I can get the next chapter up. I've written about 2,500 words already, but can't promise when it'll be ready to post. I'll do my best. 
> 
> Thanks to all who've given kudo's and/or bookmarked the story. Thanks too to all who continue to read. Appreciated. Please feel free to comment.


	33. Chapter Thirty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue from TMD

Professor Mesnier is droning on. Or at least to Jim’s ears it’s droning. The subject matter certainly doesn’t appeal; budget management, time management, requisitions, staff training and career development. It’s a stark and sobering reminder that life as a starship captain has more than its fair share of the mundane. Clearly, it’s not all about the spine-tingling excitement of making First Contact and discovering new worlds. It’s not the thrilling anticipation of a battle of wits and strategy against a worthy opponent in a skirmish along the Neutral Zone. It’s not even the dry complexity of warp field mechanics. Jim knows this, but doesn’t appreciate the reminder. No doubt some cadets find this riveting, and if Jim casts his gaze down towards the front he finds them there, leaning forward intently, hanging off Mesnier’s every word, scribbling notes furiously. If this is the kind of stuff that gets them hot under the collar, then in Jim’s not so humble opinion, they’re evidently in the career.

He shuffles restlessly in his seat; leg bouncing as he dutifully makes a few notes of his own, more for appearances than anything. He desperately hopes this painful interlude in an otherwise fine afternoon will soon be over. He’d almost rather have a medical. Almost.

Just as Jim thinks he might die of boredom, the lecture is suddenly over and Mesnier is reminding them of the paper they have to submit by the end of the week before turning and shuffling away from the lectern. Finally! Jim jumps up with startling alacrity, stuffs his PADD in his pocket, and moves as quickly as possible out of the hall, taking the steps two at a time. He bursts out on to a quad that is both bustling with noisy cadets and shrouded in lengthening shadows by the growing dusk. He has a more important task to complete and with that in mind he heads in the direction of the mess, where he can also grab a snack and a drink to appease his growling stomach.

Once there he takes his cup of barely passable coffee, sandwich and shiny red apple and goes to sit at a small table near one of the long windows along the curve of wall. He sits, shuffles slightly in an attempt to get comfortable on the hard plastic seat, and tugs his PADD out if his pocket. With a couple of deft taps of his fingertips he’s pulling up the application for the Kobayashi Maru.

It doesn’t take long to complete the request for the third time, just about as long as it takes for him to devour his sandwich. Jim can feel the grin melt across his face as he hits send. He can’t wait to beat it. Show everyone just what Jim Kirk is capable of. Between the Maru and spending time with Spock, could life get any better?

At the thought of Spock his grin grows wider. He finds himself thinking about the Vulcan a lot, though not all his thoughts are so innocent, which is why he stamps down the desire to indulge in pointy-eared related daydreaming. These cadet uniforms are just a little too tight for that.

“What are you so damn cheerful about?” a familiar irascible voice says as Bones drops down on to the chair opposite.

Jim flicks a smile of greeting up at him. “Just sent in my app for the Maru.”

Bones heaves a deep sigh, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Again! Play another tune, kid. This one’s outstayed its welcome.”

“But it’s the best tune. It’s going to be great.”

Bones is clearly unimpressed. “Just don’t forget to leave me out of it.”

Jim resists the urge to roll his own eyes. “Yeah, I know Bones, you’ve only told me like about a hundred times, already.”

“I have to,” Bones responds, leaning forward, “otherwise how would it ever penetrate that thick skull of yours?” He jabs a finger towards Jim’s forehead in demonstration.

But today no one can come close to putting a dent in Jim’s mood. “Bones, I’ve just had the lecture from hell. Tedium doesn’t even begin to cover it. I thought it would never end.” He leans back in his chair, bouncing the apple lightly on his palm. “So, nothing you say is gonna dampen my high. The night is young. I’m young. I’ve got a date with Spock Saturday. I’m going to beat the test. Life is awesome.” He takes a bite of his apple.

Bones grunts and leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. But Jim can see that his expression is softening, wilting before Jim’s obvious enthusiasm. “I’m pleased for you, Jim,” he says sincerity plain in his voice.

Jim grins warmly. “Thanks, Bones.”

Bones huffs softly, mouth twitching at the corners in a smile. They lapse into a companionable silence, broken only the satisfying crunch of Jim’s apple.

That is until Jim remembers that his friend was scheduled to spend the day being shadowed and assessed by the new Head of Medical. “Hey, Bones how did it go with whatshisname?”

“Puri?”

Jim nods.

A dark scowl forms. “I’ve only just managed to give him the slip. I was beginning to think we were conjoined,” he grouses.

“What’s he like?”

“He’s not quite as you'd imagine while being exactly as you'd imagine.”

“Huh-uh.”

“Yeah, he radiates a very strange kind of…brittleness, I suppose. In fact he radiates a very strange kind of vibe altogether.”

“Oh,” Jim says, not knowing how to respond to that. “Not too keen then?”

“Too early to tell,” Bones says with a shrug of his shoulder.

But Jim knows Bones well enough to suspect that his friend is leaning towards dislike.

“What with Puri, Fleet politics, pulling more than my share of the graveyard shifts and that bastard trying to poison my daughter, I’ve enough on my…”

Jim looks up sharply. “Trying to poison Jo? Who is?”  


“David! The man who’s replacing me, that’s who.”

It’s suddenly clear who Bones is talking about, even though he’s never mentioned a David before. “Bones, he’s not replacing you. Well, with Jocelyn maybe, but not with Jo.” Jim shakes his head empathically. “Never with Jo.”

“Yeah, I guess. But ever since Joce decided the grass was greener with me out the picture, well…ah hell…never mind.”

“Bones, as you should know, the grass is only greener on the other side because it’s been fertilized with bullshit!”

“Damn right it has.” Suddenly, Bones perks up, the beginnings of a genuine smile lighting his face. “Speaking of Jo, I’ve got a message from her. Wanna see it?”

Jim nods eagerly. “Sure.”

Bones pulls ups the message. As he hands the PADD over some of his cheer dims and Jim hears him mutter. “Of course, it’s thanks to this that I know he’s trying to poison her.”

Jim angles the PADD in front of him, forearms resting on the table. The pre-recorded message begins and Joanna suddenly fills the screen, a huge gap-toothed grin on her face; dark hair falling messily around her face.

“Hi Daddy! Guess what? We’re spending our vacation in Florida,” gushes Joanna, getting straight to the point, her face shining with excitement.

In Jim’s peripheral vision Bones gets up, rounds the table, and drops down next to him. Sits close enough that Jim can feel the heat from his body soaking into his side. Warm and comforting. Jim relaxes into it. Bones’ forearm rests heavy on his left shoulder.

“I’ve been swimming in the sea. Daddy, do you want to know what’s even better? I bet you can’t guess.” A pause. “I no longer need floats,” Jo says in a rush, her face beaming with pride and Jim can see from the corner of his eye that Bones is mirroring her expression. “I can swim real good now.”  


“David is teaching me to swim under water.”

“Bastard!” Bones mutters with feeling from Jim’s left shoulder, his breath ghosting across Jim’s cheek.

“We are staying in a really huge hotel,” she says, throwing her arms wide as if to indicate just how huge, “it’s got everything. I even have my own bathroom, called an en-suite.”

“Isn’t that just fine and dandy,” Bones grouses. “My working all the hours God sent at the hospital wasn’t good enough, oh no! Makes you want to barf, after all that crap about materialism.”

“There are ponies to ride.” Jo’s eyes grow even wider in her excitement as she practically bounces in her seat. “Ponies, Daddy.”

Both men chuckle.

“We went to a baseball match and after David cooked a barbecue and after that I got real bad stomach pains and diarrhoea.”

Predictably Bones explodes, even though it’s clear he’s already seen the contents of the vid. “What an asshole. He’s poisoning my daughter, that’s what he’s doing, the goddamn…”

“Having a great time, Daddy. I wish you were here. Love you loads.” Joanna blows kisses, in ignorant bliss of her father’s consternation.

“Could’ve at least made sure the food was cooked properly,” Bones mutters.

“Say hi to Uncle Jim for me. Bye.” Joanna waves madly before the screen suddenly goes blank, leaving Jim’s own reflection staring back at him from its sleek dark surface. He feels a pang that Joanna is gone.

At his side Bones sighs deeply and Jim can tell that he’s upset.

“Don’t worry Bones, she may be having a great time, but she still loves you,” he consoles, handing the PADD back.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bones mutters, obviously unconvinced. He stares down at the PADD, before releasing another sigh, and Jim reaches out and briefly squeezes his knee in silent support.

After a brief moment Bones stands, taking with him his warmth, his touch, and Jim feels another pang at the loss. _I really need to get laid._

“Well kid, I don’t know about you, but I’d better be making a move. Need some shut-eye before my next shift at the clinic.”

“I’ll come with,” Jim says, standing and moving to throw his trash into the recycler. He smirks. “I mean outside with you, not go sleep with you. Don’t want you getting any funny ideas, Bones.”

“There isn’t a universe that exists where you’ll ever be sleeping with me, kid.”

They head out together, striding down the thoroughfare. As they walk Jim contemplates Bones’ fears, and indeed grief, over missing so much of Jo’s life. He wants to do something for his friend. A thank you for all the support Bones has given unstintingly to him, something that can involve Bones and Jo. Maybe the fast approaching Thanksgiving holiday will give him the opportunity. 

He sneaks a sideways glance at Bones, and mentally pats himself on the back as his idea takes shape.

Turning his gaze forward, Jim spots Uhura up ahead, sitting on a bench at the side of the walkway. She’s pushing PADDs into a satchel. He turns back to Bones.

“Hey, did you know that Uhura’s first name is Nyota?”

“Yep, sure did.”

“What! You know her name? Since when?” Jim says incredulously, grabbing Bones arm and pulling him to a stop.

“Since not long after we started at the Academy.” Bones’ expression is smug.

“All this time and you knew! All this time you’ve been holding out on me?” Jim gives a shake of his head. “Why in hell didn’t you tell me?”

“What, and spoil your fun? Not to mention, and _more_ importantly, spoil all my fun watching you try and fail to wheedle it out of her.” Yeah, definite smugness.

“Some friend you are,” Jim says, pouting.

“Yes, I am,” Bones says, laughter in his voice. He leans into Jim’s personal space, expression suddenly serious. “Just as long as you leave me out of the clusterfuck that’ll be the Maru.” With that Bones pats Jim on the shoulder, turns on his heel and stalks away.

“A hundred and one times,” Jim mutters.

“I heard that,” Bones throws over his shoulder.

Jim frowns darkly at his retreating back before turning his attention back to Uhura.

He hurries forward to catch her before she leaves, only slowing his pace to a more casual stroll as he nears her bench.

“Tonk’peh,” he greets.

She looks up at him and gives him a smile which is fleeting but sincere. “Hi, Kirk. Busy practising your Vulcan, I see.”

He gives a shrug, but can feel a grin breaking out over his face. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“It’s not that much of a surprise, Kirk, we do both attend the academy,” she responds, but there’s no bite in her tone. Jim takes that as his cue to flop down on the bench beside her.

“Ah, but your company,” he lets his voice drop to a more seductive tone, “always a pleasure…”

Uhura gives him a sceptical look, crossing her arms over her chest. “What do you want?” Jim notes, however, that her body language isn’t closed off to him. 

“Just thought we’d spend a little time together. Haven’t seen you in weeks.” He gives her what he hopes is a suitably winsome grin. “How about it? Surely, you can spare _me_ a few minutes?”

She tilts her head in consideration before giving a shrug. “Why not. I guess you’re a better option than cleaning the toilet, which is probably all I’ve got to look forward to.”

“Ah, someone with as scintillating a social life as I have, eh?”

Her lips twitch at the corners and he sees her relax, as she leans back against the back of the bench.

“Oh, I’m sure now that you’ve hooked up with Spock your social life is doing _just_ fine.”

At the mention of the Vulcan, he feels his grin grow wider still. “It sure is.” 

She narrows her eyes at him. “Just bear in mind, Kirk, I have a very rusty knife among my possessions. So, you hurt him and I’ll…” Her gaze flicks down to his lap before coming back to his face.

“Noted,” Jim says with a grimace. However, he’s not too concerned by her threat. He has no intention of hurting Spock. He’s actually reassured that Spock can count on such a good and loyal friend.

“Just as long as we’re clear?”

“Crystal.”

Understanding passes between them, and Jim relaxes as companionable silence fills the void.

After a while he leans back casually, arms stretched wide along the back of the bench. With a fleeting glance towards Uhura (timing is everything) he lets his head fall back, back far enough that he’s gazing up at the stars, cold and metallic against the inky blackness, all the while keeping Uhura in his peripheral vision. With as much nonchalance as he can muster, he lets the words slip from his lips. “Nyota ziko mbali.”

From the corner of his eye he sees Uhura’s head whip in his direction. He thinks her expression may border on dumbfounded. He bites his lip to stop his laugh escaping.

Slowly, he allows his head to drop, rolling it left to catch Uhura’s gaze, his own eyes wide with feigned innocence.

“Did I say it right? The stars are far away, I mean? Nyota means star, doesn’t it?”

“You _quite_ clearly know that it does.”

“Nyota, hmm Nyoootaaa,” he stretches the word out, rolling it around his tongue, as if tasting a fine wine. “Kinda feminine wouldn’t you say?” He suddenly sits straighter, as if ambushed by a novel thought. “Hey, you know what? It’d make a real pretty girl’s name, don’t you think?”

“Kirk! Stop! You’ve made your point, don’t labor it.” She groans. “Obviously Spock told you.”

“Well, not in so many words, but I can join the dots. Wasn’t too hard in the end.”

She snorts. “Not too hard? It’s only taken you nearly three years to figure it out. What took you so long?”

“What, and spoil the fun we were both having?”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Oh, come on! You enjoyed it as much as I did.”

She doesn’t respond, rather she stares at him like she’s trying to puzzle him out, a small line between her brows. Jim resists the urge to fidget in his seat, lest he show his discomfort at the scrutiny.

“Why is it so important that you know my name, anyway?” she asks, eyes locked on him. “I mean, you could have discovered it easily enough anytime you wanted. Hell, I wouldn’t even put it past you to just hack Fleet records.”

“I could…” he admits, mind casting around for a change of topic.

“So, other than it being a game, why is my name so important?”

He clears his throat, gaze sliding away from hers. “Names are important,” he murmurs, with a casual shrug.

Jim tips his head back and returns to contemplating the night sky, so he can’t see her expression, though he remains conscious of her scrutinizing glances. He has many reasons: many reasons for not going looking for her name, for wanting her to be the one to share it with him. But he’s not even going to start listing those reasons to Uhura. He doubts he can adequately verbalize it anyway.

He can’t articulate it to himself, so what chance of making anyone else understand. He knows part of the reason, though it is only part of the reason. Somewhere out there, in the vast darkness of space there is a planet, a planet where he left his childhood – fractured as it already was – well behind. _Not even going there._ He shakes those thoughts off with a shudder.

They sit in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, when he can no longer sense the weight of her gaze, he slides a glance in her direction, and is relieved to discover that she’s stargazing too.

Without conscious thought he finds his eyes lingering on the delicate curve of her cheek before gliding down the smooth column of her upstretched neck, down to the soft curves of her breasts under the red uniform. He tilts his head carefully for a better look, until he realizes what he’s doing. He swallows heavily and shakes it off, tearing his gaze away from her. _Yeah, so need to get laid._

He clears his throat. “Anyhow, it’ll be imperative that I know your name, when I’m captain of a starship and you’re working for me, as a member of my bridge crew.”

“Your bridge crew?” she says, looking at him askance. “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself here?”

“No harm in having ambition.”

“Forget it Kirk, I’m not going into space with you!”

“Of course you are. You’ll be an essential part of my crew.”

She raises a brow. “You really need to talk to someone about these delusions of adequacy you suffer from, Kirk.”

Jim’s lips twitch in a hint of smile.

“So,” she says, tone casual, “as a cunning way to reveal you know my name, you decided to learn a few phases in Swahili?” Is it Jim’s imagination, or does Uhura sound a little impressed?

He shrugs casually. “Yeah, it seemed like a good idea at the time, but I suspect my pronunciation sucks, and it’s a bit of a ball ache learning the nouns.” He turns to her. “What the hell’s up with the nouns?”

Uhura looks momentarily puzzled. “Up with the nouns? Nothing. People often find it’s easier to learn the nouns by subject group rather than noun class. Is that what you mean?”

“Oh.”

“Actually, your pronunciation isn’t too bad. It can be a tough language for English speakers, I have to admit. The main problem is that the vocabulary has virtually no cognates, and the grammar is completely different from what you’re used to. But once you have the grammar then learning the words isn’t that difficult.”

Jim nods thoughtfully, before turning his attention back to Uhura. “Admit it, you’re impressed.”

“Impressed?”

“Yeah, with my talented tongue, my language skills, hell, how I’ve revealed I know your name.”

“Oh, very impressed.” She leans towards him and holds her right hand in front of his face, thumb and forefinger measuring the smallest gap, so small they’re practically touching each other. “This much in fact.”

Jim leans towards her hand, squinting at the teeny gap. “As much as that, eh?” He grins at her.

Uhura shakes her head in exasperated amusement and gathering her satchel she stands, turning to smile warmly down at him. “Well as entertaining as this has been, I can’t spend all night chatting with you, Kirk.”

Jim jumps up and falls into step beside her as she begins to walk back to the dorms.

They’re nearly reached her room when she breaks the silence. “Are you happy?”

Her question catches him off guard, because it’s not like Uhura to ask him how he feels. He slides a quick glance towards her. "Ég er hamingjusamur,” he says, just a hint of cockiness in his voice. It is true though, he’s happier than he’s been for a long time.

Uhura groans. “Now, you’re just showing off.”

He feigns innocence. “Me! Never.”

“Oh, never,” she agrees with a good natured roll of her eyes.

They reach her door. A door he stood outside of only few months ago with Gaila.

“Well, Kirk this is my stop.” She turns to him. “Goodnight, Jim,” she says softly.

“Alamsiki, Nyota.” She hasn’t given him permission to use her first name, but as she’s just called him by his, he hopes she’ll let it slide this one time.

Her eyes widen slightly in surprise. “Okay, I’m a little more impressed. You used it in the correct context. Lots of people say it at the wrong time of day. It’s true it’s the word for farewell, but only at night.”

“I’m not a complete moron, you know.”

She arches an eyebrow in an exact imitation of Spock. “Really! Not complete. Which bit is missing?”

“Touché.” 

They share a grin, before Uhura turns to activate her door. “Bye, Kirk,” she says with a quick glance over her shoulder before she disappears inside. The door swishes shut, blocking her from Jim’s sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonk’peh (Vulcan)  
> Hi, hello
> 
> Nyota (Swahili)  
> Star
> 
> nyota ziko mbali  
> the stars are far away
> 
> Ég er hamingjusamur (Icelandic)  
> I am content/happy.
> 
> Alamsiki (Swahili)  
> goodnight, goodbye (at night), farewell (at night)
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful beta, Fagur Fiskur, for the Icelandic (and the beta work). Apologies for butchering the other languages.
> 
> Next chapter will be slash. Yeah, yeah, took long enough :)


End file.
